


Second Chances

by Lurafita



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Almost everything, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amy Lives (Walking Dead), Because Merle is there, But He Gets Better, But the group finds somewhere else to hole up in, Canon can f itself, Carl Grimes Lives, Changes to main plot points, Character Growth, Daryl's absolute and not at all irrational hatred of goats, Did I Mention the Slow Burn?, Different First Meetings, Different location, Duane lives - Freeform, Except The Bad Guys, F you canon!, F/F, F/M, Familial Relationships, Family of Choice, Gen, Henry Lives, His name was ALWAYS in the character tags, I DON'T KILL THE PEOPLE I LOVE, I change everything, I did not forget about Shawn before, I don't kill the kids, I mean that, I plan on there being fluff, Like lots of it, M/M, Noah lives, Patrick lives, Racist Language, Re-write, Rewrite, S.l.o.w. b.u.r.n, See all those characters in the character list?, Shane Walsh redemption, Slow Burn, Sophia Peletier Lives, Still in Georgia, The fact he is listed last does not prove that I forgot about him before and added him later, They all live, Zach lives, because that's how i roll, but no one cares about them - Freeform, eventually, falling in love without meeting each other, many of the characters don't meet for a long time, most things, not all romantic relationships have been decided yet, reluctant leader Daryl, specifically the walker bite, that's crazy talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurafita/pseuds/Lurafita
Summary: What if the timing had been a little bit off? And one additional person had gone on the run with the Atlanta run crew?Shane went with the others to Atlanta. He is the one to cuff Merle to the roof. Rick arrives in Atlanta just a little later, and comes across the trapped Dixon. An unlikely friendship forms over the lengths of far too many road trips in order to catch up to their respective families, who they keep missing due to circumstances and poor timing. While two different groups of survivors form, and friendships and families are built, two people fall in love with each other, without even having met. (spoiler alert: it's Rick and Daryl. :-) XD )
Relationships: Aaron/Eric Raleigh, Amy & Beth Greene, Annette Greene/Hershel Greene, Bob Stookey/Sasha Williams, Daryl Dixon & Glenn Rhee, Daryl Dixon & Glenn Rhee & Theodore "T-Dog" Douglas, Daryl Dixon & Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon & Theodore "T-Dog" Douglas, Daryl Dixon & kids, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Everyone & Everyone, Everyone & kids, Karen (Walking Dead: Woodbury)/Tyreese Williams, Lori Grimes/Shane Walsh, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee, Merle Dixon & Rick Grimes, Rick Grimes & Morgan Jones, Rick Grimes & Shane Walsh, Rick Grimes & kids
Comments: 223
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen up people, this is a work in progress, and I'm not a fast writer. In fact, english isn't my first language, so that may contribute to sometimes chapters taking longer to be produced/written. So just to warn you, going in, you are in for a long ride with this one.  
> I'm always open to suggestions, even though the plot is mostly figured out. But I am genuinely interested in what you think might happen, or might be nice if it were to happen. So never hold back on that front if you want to share.  
> Another thing you should know is: I don't care what happens in canon. I don't care that "some deaths had to happen to develop this specific character", or any such thing. If you are looking for something that follows the tv canon line closely, this is not the fic you are looking for. If you are looking for something that has agonizing deaths of beloved characters, this is not the fic you are looking for. If you are looking for a fic that features Negan, this is not the fic you are looking for. I don't plan on having the characters even meeting the Saviours. ... And Negan is cancelled.  
> This fic is self indulgent. Purely and unapologetically. I do what I want. I will try to do it in a way that does the characters and their origins justice, but at the end of the day, I just want them to survive together and grow into a family of choice and have some fluffy romances mixed in there.  
> Another thing that is actually important to this fic, but I also plan to explain further in the story, is that I change the nature of the Walker bite. It will not be a One-Hit-Kill. It will not be an automatic death sentence. But it will be a possibly dangerous wound that might carry an infection that needs to be survived. For anyone who is interested, I will post an explanation for why I'm doing this in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Even after what he had seen leaving the hospital, and after everything Morgan and his son had told him, Rick hadn't been prepared for what awaited him in Atlanta. Not by a long shot.

Reanimated corpses, walking, crawling, stumbling, snarling, _reaching_ for him.

Dozens.

Hundreds?

They were everywhere.

The former Sheriff's Deputy had no idea how he managed to hold onto the gun bag during his wild escape through alleys and buildings, he just hoped that nothing inside it had gotten too banged up and damaged. His stetson was sadly lost, but he wouldn't risk going back to retrieve the hat that had fallen off.

All he was worried about at this very moment though, was getting the roof exit door to the building he had fled into open, and hopefully get a better vantage point of the city.

And a couple of minutes to just breathe. That's what he needed the most right then. A moment to breathe, to center himself, to figure this all out.

Morgan had said there were supposed to be refugee centers in the city, to where the citizens of all the neighboring counties had been told to go. A safe place run by the military.

But this city was dead. Worse, it was a war zone.

He had seen the signs of destruction, the kind that couldn't have been caused by walking corpses, but rather bullets, flames, and detonations. The abandoned tank he had passed right before he had had to run from a massive group of the undead, was testimony to the military's presence at some point.

What in the hell had happened here? He prayed to god that Lori and Carl were alive and that he would find them. With another shove, the heavy door finally gave, causing Rick to stumble onto the open roof of the building.

He almost fell right back into the door when a hoarse voice to his left sounded.

“That must have been some god damn weird shit I took if it's got me hallucinating fucking pigs now!”

He fumbled in his surprise to reach his trusty colt python, dropping the gun bag behind him and aiming the revolver in the direction the voice had come from.

The sight before him had him do a double-take. A man _(older than him, buzz cut, broadly muscled, likely tall, rough-looking)_ was sprawled out on the floor. One hand chained to a pipe with a pair of handcuffs, the other propping up his body sideways. Not far from the man laid an open bag with different tools and,... a saw. The man was cuffed to a pipe and reaching for a saw. It didn't take a genius to guess why.

Rick lowered his weapon.

“What happened here?”

The man scoffed derisively.

“I always knew yous pigs were dumb as rocks. Well, what happened? Let's see. First, the fucking dead decided to not stay dead no more and started eating people. Then the fucking government decided that it would be a great idea to drop them fucking bombs everywhere to kill both the dead bastards and the living ones, only really killing a _few_ of the dead ones, _all_ the alive ones, and creating more dead ones. And as a cherry on the top of the shit cake that is life, a fucking cop like you cuffed me to this fucking pipe to burn up in the Georgia summer heat. That about cover it for you, or you got a follow up question?”

The man might as well have 'ex-con' written across his forehead, with all the pieces he just provided Rick with for his puzzle. The mention of having taken something that made him hallucinate, coupled with the attitude and name calling, and the information that it was another cop who had left the man like this, made it pretty clear that he had had trouble with the law before. And he apparently liked to hear himself talk. It was such a classic crook behavior to display, that Rick actually felt himself relaxing in the familiarity of it.

“And I'm guessing you are completely innocent and have done nothing to deserve your fate, right?”

Which was another well known song and dance for him. What wasn't as well known was the half sneer, half frown the man pulled off.  
“You tell me, little piggy. Now, I mighta made an error in judgment by taking them drugs when I did. Was a stupid thing to do right then, and made me do things I mighta not have done otherwise. But I ain't killed no one and I ain't got no one killed. So you think it was right for Officer Limp Dick to trap me here and leave me to die?”

Rick's knee jerk reaction was to come to a fellow cop's defense. The man before him looked and talked like every textbook rough and tumble criminal did. And he could be lying. Could have killed an innocent or caused the death of another. But Rick also knew that not every man and woman who wore the uniform did so for the right reasons, and that down the line, even the good ones can fall into corruption. Hell, his own partner on the force and best friend had at times battled with anger issues and prejudices that really didn't belong in their line of work.

Also, he didn't think this man, abrasive as he appeared to be, was lying to him.

In his years on the force, Rick had categorized criminals and their relationship with the truth into two slots.

Number 1 lied their asses off at every turn to make themselves look better than they actually were. And number 2 used the truth like a weapon and delighted in every strike they managed to land with it.

This one, Rick thought, was in the number 2 slot.

Which made him think. Could he ever leave a man to die of thirst and exposure like this?

Decision made, Rick felt along his belt and into the pouch that should hold his spare handcuff keys.

“If those are standard issued cuffs, that saw won't be able to cut through the chain.”

The man looked up at him, pale eyes narrowed but curious, assessing, as he locked onto the little key in Rick's hand as the former Deputy stepped closer.

“Wasn't plannin' on cutting through the _chain_.”

And that was a horrifying image Rick tried to banish from his brain right away as he knelt down beside the man and unlocked the handcuffs.

He straightened back upright and offered his hand down to help the other man up. Who looked at the hand like it might turn into a snake and bite him at any moment, but took it after a few seconds. Turns out he needed the help, after having had to sit in the heat for some time while still coming down from his trip.

“Thanks, Officer Friendly.”

Rick steadied the man for a moment longer and gave him a nod.

“I'm no officer anymore. Just a man looking for his family. Name's Rick Grimes.”

“Merle Dixon.”

They shook hands, then Merle frowned lightly.

“Wait, Grimes? Feel like I heard that name before. Eh, hell if I know. You probably arrested someone I knew before and I heard them bitching about you, or something like that.”

This was without a doubt one of the strangest conversations Rick had ever had, but considering the current situation, it probably wasn't too concerning. And anyway, he had more pressing matters right then.

“You said the government bombed the city? I saw a tank down there, and someone told me that the military had refugee centers here. They must be outside of the blast radius, right? I was hoping I would be able to spot them from up here.”

His voice had gotten a little frantic at the end, but his worry for his family had made it back to the forefront of his mind and was creating an ugly kind of nausea in his stomach.

Merle gave him a look that was half pitying and half condescending.

“Atlanta was never supposed to be safe for the civilians. 'Tis the dark side of the military, the one no one ever talks about. Got all them emergency protocols and procedures, you know? And something like this? With dead and rotting assholes walking round and eating alive and breathing assholes, with no one knowing the how or the why? Them big cities become hot spots. Lotta people means lotta food for the undead, means lotta future undead. So large groups of people in one place are now becoming a danger, but smaller groups that are spread out, that can't be controlled or monitored, those might a problem, too. At least where the guys in charge are concerned, anyway. So the military goes and erects them camps in them big cities, tells everyone to haul ass over there, gathering all them little sheep together in one place. And then they take care of the problem in one fell swoop.”

Rick's face might as well have been devoid of blood with how pale he had become.

“They killed them all? All the people that came here for protection? They just.. just... You know about these protocols? Are you sure?”

_Please no._

He felt light-headed, unable to breathe. It couldn't be.

Shane. Lori.

_Please, god._

Carl!

Seemingly oblivious to Rick's internal breakdown, Merle kept talking.

“I was a Marine long enough to know what was gonna happen with those quarantine camps. I know it sounds like one of them conspiracy theories from dumbasses with tin foil wrapped around their heads, but it's true. I snatched up my little brother and got us the hell away from civilization as soon as we heard the evacuation notice on the radio. Few weeks later, we stumble upon a little quarry where a buncha city slickers made their camp. Said they been late evacuating and getting to Atlanta. Saved their asses, and got them a nice view of the first bombs dropping down on the city.”

Rick felt as if he was listening to the words from underwater. Muted. Everything felt muted, now. Numb.

Shane.

Lori.

Carl.  
  
 _No, no, no._

They would have made their way to those military camps. Shane would have taken them there. The man was his best friend. His brother. Shane would have gotten them out. Would have taken them to safety. Atlanta was supposed to be safe. The military was supposed to be safe!

His friend.

His wife.

His son!

_Oh god!_

Carl!

“Wouldn'ta been so bad. I mean, apart from the niggers and the spics and all that, wasn't that bad a place. Even had some damn fine looking ladies there. But damn place had to come with a fucking cop. Had taken over as the leader, cause you pigs always need for everyone to dance to your melody, don't ya? Hey, now that I look at'cha, you are wearing the same damn uniform he does. Maybe you know him? Stupid face, stupid perm, stick up his ass and prolly no dick in the front. What was his name again? Wall.... Dane... Shade... Walsh! That's it! Shane Walsh!”

It was like the name was a ray of sunshine breaking through the darkness that was rapidly clouding his mind. And he latched on to it with all his might.

“Shane? Dark hair? Tall built? Uniform like mine? Shane Walsh?”

Merle snorted.

“Is what I said, ain't it? Asshole was from somewhere around here, one of the nearby counties. Didn't listen to him too closely.”

Hope started to bloom inside Rick's chest.

“Was there someone with him? A woman named Lori and a young boy named Carl? He is 10 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, about this tall” he lifted his hand to the appropriate height on his hip. “Carl Grimes, and Lori Grimes. My wife and son. Were they with Shane? Did he get them out? Are they alive?”

“Whoa there, Sheriff.” Merle had to take a few steps back, as Rick had crowded him a little in his desperation to learn about his family's fate. “Slow down a bit. Damn, that queen bee and the little brat are yours? Oh, wait! That's where I heard your name from!”  
  
Ignoring the name-calling, as he had done a lot of so far, Rick went on.

“They are there? In this, this quarry camp? Lori and Carl? They are alive?”

_Oh god, please. Oh dear god, please!_

Something that was almost soft entered Merle's eyes as he answered.

“Yeah, they are both there. Walsh may be an asshole, but he's kept them safe, far as I could tell.”

The relief hit him like a ton of bricks and his knees threatened to buckle under it. He bent over a bit, resting his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

They were alive. _Oh thank god._ They were safe.

Merle frowned.

“Now, my brother and I kept to ourselves as much as we could, but I'm pretty sure I heard that wife of yours telling one of the other tarts at camp that her husband was dead.”

It took a few seconds for the words to register with Rick, still completely overwhelmed with the discovery of his family's safety, but then he straightened himself back up as he answered the other man.

“She had every reason to believe that. I was shot before, well, before all _this_. I fell into a coma that I just woke up from recently.”

At first Merle looked at him unbelieving, then he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

“Ha! You serious? Damn, not every day I meet someone who slept through the end of the fucking world. That musta been a hell of a nightmare you stepped into right after getting outta bed.”

Rick supposed there was some humor to be found in this kind of situation. Maybe. Not really, but, whatever.

“You could say that. So that camp, at the quarry, is it far? Can you take me there?”

“Ain't too far, couple hours on foot, faster if we hotwire a car. Yeah, Imma take ya. Thanks to you, my hand is still attached, so I figure I owe ya.”

Now that he knew, that he had a destination, Rick wanted to be on his way as soon as possible, and that was preferably ten minutes ago.  
  
“Yes, yes. Thank you. A car, we can definitely find a car. We just have to... the Walkers, just have to get through the Walkers, find a car, get to the quarry.”

He was stalking along the edges of the roof, looking down and searching for the best way to get to one of the nearby abandoned cars. People had left in a hurry, some of the cars still had their doors open. Maybe they didn't even need to hotwire one, because the owner had left the key in the ignition when trying to flee the undead.

“What did you just call them?”

Ripped from his slowly forming escape plan, Rick looked over to Merle.

“What?”

“What ya just called them things? Walkers?”

Huh, he did, didn't he. He shrugged.

“I don't know. Seemed fitting, somehow.”

Merle seemed to think it over for a second, and then just shrugged as well. Seeing the other man's acceptance, Rick returned to his planning.

“We can make our way down the fire escape on this side, street is clear down there. The next cluster of Walkers I can see is a little ways down the road... Why aren't they attacking each other? What do they react to? How do they see us?”

He looked back at his companion, who crossed his arms over his front and narrowed his eyes in thought.

“They can't spot you from too far away, but they _can_ see, whitened eyes or not. Or, hell, maybe it's the smell, and they actually can't see shit all. Don't know how that all works, just know that if they are close enough, they can spot you. Noise seems to be the biggest thing with them, though. Loud noises attract them like dog shit attracts flies. As does fire and bright lights. So maybe they can see after all. Hell if I know. But we should go back into the building first and look for some kinda weapon for me, cause if all we got is your gun, we gonna be in trouble.”

Rick actually smiled at this.

“I think I got us covered on this front.”

Then he walked back to his bag that was still lying innocently in front of the fire exit door and beckoned the older man over, opening the zipper.

Merle whistled appreciatively.

“Damn, Officer Friendly, that's some heat you got packing there.”

He eagerly grabbed one of the automatic guns, and then expertly inspected it. Rick felt himself reminded that Merle had said he had been a Marine.

“I cleaned out the Sheriff's station back in King County before coming here. That reminds me!”

He quickly knelt back down and searched for the walkie he had stuffed into the bag.

“There was a man there, with his son. They helped me after I got out of the hospital. He was going to follow me here as soon as he had taken care of some family matters. I need to warn him, otherwise he and his son will be walking right into this death trap.”

Finally grasping the device, Rick got ready to contact Morgan right away, when he noticed the broken piece dangling from the casing.

“Oh no.”

He tried turning it on, off, on again. Tried adjusting the channels, held it higher in hopes of getting a signal. Nothing.

“It must have broken when I dropped the bag before. I.. I can't get a message to him like this.”

Merle grunted about him.

“So what you wanna do?”

He couldn't let Morgan and Duane walk into this blindly.

“I need to go back to King County. I have to warn Morgan. His son is the same age as Carl.”

_He couldn't._

The other man rose one eyebrow, assessing him once again.

“What about little Carl and the wifey, though? You were pretty desperate to get back to them just a minute ago.”

He was. Oh god, he was. He wanted to be with them. Hold them in his arms. Assure himself that they were alive, well, safe!

But...

“Morgan and Duane saved my life. I would have never even made it here if not for them. I could never forgive myself if I let them walk into this. And Lori and Carl are safe. Now that I know that... Shane is with them. He will keep them safe. It will just be an extra few days.”

Just an extra few days. He had made the travel from King County to Atlanta reasonably fast, it shouldn't take longer than one or two days to collect Morgan and Duane and return. And then he would be with them again. Would see his son again. Hold him again. And Morgan and Duane would be safe as well. Just an extra few days. He could do this. Now that he knew that Lori and Carl were safe, he could do this.

Across from him, Merle nodded once.

“Fine. So we haul ass to your old neighborhood, get the two, and get back to the quarry. I can do that.”

Surprised, though grateful, Rick looked back at Merle.

“I.. Thank you, but, are you sure? What if they come back for you and find you gone? I can't ask you to risk your life for this.”

The ex-marine snorted.

“Now, there are a lot of very unflattering things people have said about me. And a lot of those things are true, not gonna lie. But one thing ain't no one ever said about us Dixons, is that we don't pay our debts. You done right by me, Grimes. So I will do right by you. Also, ain't no one kill a Dixon but a Dixon, and least of all one of them dead assholes out there, so don't you go worrying about me risking my life. And as far as them city slickers coming to my rescue, I ain't holding my breath. You might be an okay cop, but that friend of yours was the one who left me here in the first place.”

Rick cringed at that. He would have to get the full story from Shane later on how exactly that happened. He just couldn't believe that it had been a deliberate move on his friend's part.

“And, sure, my brother would come back for me, alone even, if he had to, but he was planning on a long hunt when we left for Atlanta. He will prolly be in the woods for the next two to three days. So ain't like he knows I been left behind.”

“Your brother stays out in the forest for days? Isn't that dangerous right now, with the Walkers?”

Again, Merle just shrugged, though this time he smirked a little, too.

“I told you, ain't no one kill a Dixon but a Dixon. And Daryl is prolly more at home in the forest than anywhere else. Was never the most social type. Game's been getting scarce over the last few weeks, and there are a lot of mouths to feed. Baby brother was hopin' that he would find some bigger game if he went deeper into the woods.”

Rick nodded, still a bit doubtful that no one would come back to free Merle, but also not in the position to reject the other man's help. He closed the bag up again and slung it over his shoulder.

“Okay, let's go. Grab that tool bag, too. Might be useful.”

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually think that the whole thing with the Walker bite/scratch being a one hit kill impacted the whole story negatively.  
> I mean, at first it just sounds super dangerous and seems to add to the suspense. But after a while, you realize that there is no payout with this. If a walker gets at one of the characters, they are dead. No if, but or how's about it. And if they didn't get scratched or bit, then they are simply okay. Shaken up, sure, but unhurt.  
> However, a lot of the excitement in entertainment and rooting for your characters, in an action or horror oriented setting, comes from various injuries that the characters have to overcome along with different obstacles.  
> Think back to the time when Daryl was searching for Sophia, fell off a cliff, impaled himself on one of his arrows, fell down the cliff again, pulled the arrow out of his body, and had to make his way back while fighting walkers. This scene was so incredible in part because Daryl did all this while seriously injured. It added so much tension and suspense and people were on the edges of their seats, rooting for him.  
> Ruling out the main danger in a zombie apocalypse, the zombies themselves, as the source of life threatening injuries, makes them in a way, less important.  
> Had it been just a matter of surviving the infection transmitted by a walker's bite or scratch, it would have added a whole other layer to the danger present, and could have created various hurt/comfort scenes.  
> As it is, however, the walkers either kill you, or leave you completely unharmed, or sometimes are something that happens in the background.  
> At least, that's how I see it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman Reedus is older than Andrew Lincoln and Jon Bernthal. Actually, Jon Bernthal is the youngest between the three. But I like imagining Daryl to be a bit younger than both Rick and Shane, and have Rick and Shane be the same age. Not a lot, just 1 or 2 years. So when I refer to someone as "the younger man", between any of the three, I mean Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: You know, your tags might make people believe that you don't like me.  
> Me: I don't.  
> Canon: That makes no sense. Why are you even a fan if you don't like what happens in the show?  
> Me: I like the characters. I like the type of environment that promises a lot of action and growing together as a family through the different dangers and hurdles the characters have to face. But I don't like how you took those things and used it to torture the characters I like.  
> Canon: You owe me a lot, you know? Without me, all those familial dynamics you like so much and your little headcanons and plot bunnies wouldn't even exist. Without me, your favorite character, Daryl, wouldn't even exist!  
> Me: So I'm supposed to ignore and forgive all the hurt you put me through just because you did 'some' things right? Forget it. I'm not signing up for this kind of abusive relationship between the two of us, Canon. I will take all the good you have provided me with, and dial it up as much as I can. And I will take all the heartache you forced on me, and try my best to heal it. And when I'm done with this story, it will make me smile. And if it can make others smile as well, then all the better. And there is nothing you can do about it.  
> Canon: You... you can't do this! This is madness!  
> Me: This. is. fanfiction! ***Sparta kicking canon into a hole***

Daryl was pissed. Actually, he was beyond pissed. First, his little hunting trip that was supposed to keep him away from the camp and the people in it for at least two to three days, was cut short because the deer he had been tracking had doubled back in the direction of the camp he tried to get away from. _(And he fucking needed the break. Fucking people!)_. Then the same deer ended up being gnawed on by one of the fucking dead ones. _(And five, fucking five of the fucking people in camp still hadn't figured out how to put those things down permanently. Fucking people!)_. And then fucking Walsh told him that they had left his brother behind to die in Atlanta.

Of course he had lunged at the asshole, and the whole damn camp had stood around them to watch the spectacle. **Fucking people.** Then Walsh pulled a dirty trick on him _(which Daryl could only blame himself for not anticipating. "There ain't no rules in a fight, baby brother. Only thing that counts is who walks away after.")_ and it left the younger man kneeling in the dirt, gasping for breath.

"You done, Dixon?!"

Shane was ruffled from the fight as well, brief as it had been. There was a rip in his shirt and his cheekbone would likely darken and swell up soon. But he had both body mass and police training on his opponent, and he hadn't doubted that he would be able to take Daryl down. He was a bit surprised by the speed the Redneck seemed to recover from the punch to the gut, as the other man stood up quickly and sneered at him.

"Just tell me where he is so's I can go get him!"

Shane put on the harsh tone he used on criminals in the past.

"You aren't going back there. The city is as good as overrun."

The former Deputy wasn't the least bit surprised by the threatening step Daryl took towards him, ready to go again, though T-Dog's intervention hadn't been anticipated.

"Whoa whoa whoa. Stop a moment there. Look, I chained the door that led to the roof of the building." The first part he directed to a still irate Daryl, then the black man turned his gaze at Shane. "I did that so he would be safe from the undead until we could come back for him."

Before Shane could say anything, Daryl turned abruptly to T-Dog.

"Which building?"

"I'll show you."

The two men nodded at each other briefly, about to start for the same van the group had used to get to Atlanta the day before, when suddenly Shane pulled out his gun from it's holster. Many of the surrounding people gasped loudly. Lori was clutching her wide eyed son to her side.

"I said you aren't going back there, Daryl, and the same goes for you, T. I'm trying to protect you here. Merle is probably already dead, there is no point in risking any more lives for a waste of space addict like him."

T-Dog was shocked.

"What the hell, Shane?"

Shane shrugged his shoulders, though he did look a bit apologetic.

"I'm sorry for having to do this, T. But as I said, I'm trying to protect you. Atlanta was bad enough when we left it yesterday. Are you really looking to risk your life for Merle Dixon? Especially after what that rotten dirtbag did to you?"

Daryl bristled, turning fully back to the former Deputy.

"You should choose your words more carefully."

"No, rotten dirtbag is what I meant."

"Stop it Shane!"

The outcry stopped everyone in their tracks, and the shocked gazes of the assembled group landed on ten year old Carl Grimes, who was looking at Shane in a mixture of anger and sadness. Though his mother tried to turn the boy away from the scene, Carl struggled to keep facing the dark haired man.

"What you are doing isn't right! You, you can't ask him to leave his brother behind! That's not fair, that's not what cops are supposed to do. You wouldn't do this if it was Dad who needed rescuing."

Shane faltered slightly, but still held the gun trained on the younger Dixon brother.

"Buddy, look, this isn't-"

But Carl shook his head, moisture gathering in his eyes.

"Dad wouldn't do this. He wouldn't leave someone behind. Even if that someone was mean and.. and violent. He would go back for him. Dad would-"

Tears started running down his face as Carl stopped speaking, instead burying his head into his mother's stomach. Lori hugged her son to her, softly patting over his head, before she lifted her head to pin Shane with a disappointed look. He finally lowered his gun.

"I'm sorry, Carl. You are right. Rick would have gone back, even for someone like Merle Dixon."

It was apparently all he was willing to say on this matter, as Shane then holstered his gun again, giving Daryl one last angry glare, for which the other man simply flipped him off, and made his way to his tent beside the one Lori shared with Carl.

With the situation defused, Daryl took the few steps separating him from his crossbow, which he had dropped before tackling Shane, shouldered it, and turned right back to T-Dog.

"You still in?"

The man nodded, jogging to his own tent to pick up the machete he left there. Daryl watched him for a second, mentally shaking his head. The man might have earned some respect by being willing to go with Daryl to get Merle back, but he was still just as much of a clueless city slicker as all these other people here. It was a bad idea to not have a weapon on you, even in camp. These people were so fucking stupid. Daryl started heading to the van, sure that T-Dog _(which was a ridiculous name, but it was the only one Daryl knew, and he wasn't planning on asking the guy for his real one)_ would be there shortly, when the Asian kid approached him from the side.

"I'm coming, too. I know the streets pretty well, I'm sure I can get us to the building without running into too many of the dead ones. I.. I'm sorry, about Merle. We didn't plan on leaving him behind, just, he was really high and making a lot of noise and he was beating up on T and things just got really crazy there and -"

"Shut up."

Daryl did not have time to listen to this guy's word vomit.

"If you want to come along, get a weapon, and get your ass in the van."

Thankfully the young man _(how old was he even?)_ just nodded and ran to follow Daryl's instructions. So he, too, didn't have a weapon on his person. Stupid fucking people. Remembering what T-Dog had said about chaining the door, Daryl veered off to where Dale was once again leaning over the open hood of his RV, pointing something out to the man who always helped him with keeping the piece of junk running. Daryl didn't know his name and he didn't care. The only thing he did care about right then, was the extensive tool collection the old man owned.

"Hey, Golden Pond. You got some bolt cutters in there somewhere?"

Dale startled at first, but then frowned.

"I don't like lending tools. Most of them never make it back to me. Just like the bag full I gave to the run group for Atlanta."

There was a distinct tone to his voice. Persuading. _Bargaining_. Daryl knew this tactic. It was everything he grew up with. No one did anything for free. Not in the old world, and certainly not in this new one. And it usually cost him way more than he was getting out of it. But this was his brother. This was Merle. Daryl couldn't not do it. So he gritted his teeth and asked the question he knew the old man was waiting for.

"What do you want for it?"

Dale gestured at the RV.

"I'm pretty attached to the old girl, but she isn't exactly in splendid condition. I had very few replacement parts for her, and by now I have run out completely. The radiator hose is especially troublesome. At this point it's more duct tape than hose."

Car parts for his brother's life. The old man wasn't putting it in those terms, of course. Hadn't even made the demand directly. Just said the right things for Daryl to draw his own conclusions. It probably helped Golden Pond to keep a clean conscience.  
 _An evil man threatens, a wise one bargains._ It was something his mother had told him, once, before the alcohol had completely destroyed what was left of her mind. Daryl almost preferred the evil ones. At least they were straight with you.

Instead of voicing any of this, though, he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to the vehicle.

"Should be lots of abandoned cars and shit in the city, won't be a problem to gut 'em. Hose universal or molded?"

"Universal, thankfully. Finding the right molded one would probably be wishful thinking."

Daryl nodded.

"What else?"

It didn't take long for Dale to list off the things he needed for his RV, though Jim kept whispering to ask for more under his breath, and Daryl was soon on his way to the white van that Glenn and T-Dog were waiting beside. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Lori kneel down in front of Carl, seemingly talking softly to the still upset boy. The brat had helped him against Shane, and Daryl wouldn't forget that. He always paid his debts.

Daryl took the driver's seat as T-Dog got in beside him and Glenn slid into the back. The kid had armed himself with a crowbar. Not the worst choice there was, but Daryl doubted that the string bean had the upper body strength required for repeatedly bashing skulls in. Even the more brittle ones of the rotting corpses traipsing around. They would have to go for the stealthy approach as much as possible.

As they were driving away from the camp, Daryl caught a glimpse of T-Dog's busted up face again. He had noticed the damage before, of course, but he had been very occupied with the fact that his brother had been left chained to a building in a city overrun with the dead, so he hadn't put forth too much concern for the other man. Now, remembering Shane's and Glenn's words and knowing his brother as he did, slight curiosity filled his mind.

"My brother do that to you?"

He wasn't the least bit surprised when T-Dog nodded.

"He was drugged up, shooting bullets around, and was getting into his racist bullshit again. I was sick of listening to him. Thought I could rush him. Didn't think he could still be that quick, with how high he was. That was why Shane used his handcuffs to restrain your brother. So that we could prepare for a quick get away before the dead ones had us cornered and cut off. I was supposed to free Merle when we were ready, but I dropped the key."

Daryl frowned at him, the anger that had cooled just a little bit, coming back full force.

"And you couldn't pick it up?!"

"I dropped it down a drain. It's why I chained the door. Look, I'm obviously not your brother's biggest fan, but I'm also not the kind of guy who just leaves someone to die. Not for something like this. If I killed every racist motherfucker I came across, I would have been able to watch the world go down from out of a high security cell somewhere."

The man was direct, but honest. Daryl could respect that. Hell, he appreciated it.

"I will try to keep him away from the stuff. I don't even know how he got his hands on whatever it was he took."  
  
Fell off the wagon again. It really shouldn't surprise Daryl anymore, but Merle had promised. _("Imma stay clean this time, baby brother. Sick and tired of having you clean up my messes for me.")  
_  
He always promised...  
  
"I've got his stash, and I know everything was still there when you guys took off yesterday. Must have found some on a body or something. For the record, though, if it happens again, keep away from him, no matter what kinda shit comes out of his mouth. Ma brother is always looking for a fight, but when he is high, he stops pulling his punches."

"Why do you keep it?" Glenn piped up from the backseat, voice hesitant and nervous. "If it makes him dangerous?"

The younger Dixon wasn't used to talking this much with people he didn't really know. _(Hell, he wasn't even used to talking this much with people he had known for years)_. But he was still so very pissed off about this whole clusterfuck of a situation, and he needed to do something about it that didn't include going hunting or beating someone up. _(Preferably Walsh)_. So talking to the two people who had actually offered to help him would have to do as a way to calm him down.

"Know how they make antidotes and stuff? They take the poison and dilute it and add some other crap, and suddenly the thing that was gonna kill you, is used to heal you. Meth, Ecstasy, other shit like that? All them damn drugs are bad for you, until you break the shit down and use it as antibiotics, or painkillers, or sedatives. Thought it might be worth holding on to, seeing as there ain't no hospitals and shit anymore."

A look into the rearview mirror showed understanding reflected in Glenn's eyes, and next to him, T-Dog nodded.

"That's smart."

Daryl scoffed.

"Ma brother knows more about this stuff. Had to learn while he was in the Navy."

"Merle served?"

Concentrating back on the road _(though it was hardly necessary, not like there was any traffic)_ , Daryl nodded.

"Almost ten years. Before he got his ass dishonorably discharged for punching a superior officer."

T-Dog almost smiled.

"Now that I believe."

* * *

Atlanta was bad, that much had been clear as soon as they had got in. It had taken far longer than Daryl liked to find a safe space to park the van, that wasn't too far from the office building Merle was at, but also unlikely to be in the path of any of the undead. The three men had made it through a series of alley ways, led by Glenn, to make it mostly undetected to a street right across from the building holding the older Dixon. Two of the three dead ones that had spotted the trio had been quickly dealt with via an arrow through the eye socket courtesy of Daryl's crossbow. The third had fallen to T-Dog's machete.

Carefully studying the street they had to cross from the cover of the building they had pressed themselves to, Daryl aimed his question to Glenn, who was crouched just beneath him.

"Alright, Chinaman. What do ya suggest?"

Glenn frowned, "I'm Korean." though he still kept his eyes on the street teeming with undead before them.

Above him, Daryl shrugged gruffly.

"Whatever."

Obviously unhappy with that retort, T-Dog scoffed.

"You know, it's that kind of attitude that creates racist assholes like your brother. A little respect for another person's roots goes a long way."

Then it was Daryl's turn to scoff.

"What the hell does it matter? World has gone to shit in a handbasket. The dead ones don't care about your 'roots', they just wanna eat you. And neither being black, nor being Korean, makes the two of you any more or less able to survive."

T-Dog shook his head.

"It's not about capability. It's about being proud of who you are and where you came from."

The statement was soon followed by an eye roll from Daryl.

"Everything is about capability now. If all you gotta offer is being 'proud of your roots', you ain't gonna make it very long in this world. And what the hell does this even mean. Far as I'm concerned, you come from your parents. And your parents either do a good job raising you, or they do a shit job raising you. And that ain't nothing to do with where they come from, but with who they are. The color of your skin ain't got nothing to do with that, and neither does your birth place. Being black didn't teach you how to swing that machete, and being Korean didn't teach Glenn strategy. Doesn't change the fact that he looks like a Chinaman."

Said man looked up at the other two in wide eyed surprise.

"That may be the most non-racist, racist thing I have ever heard."

T-Dog was opening his mouth to add something, but Daryl had run out of patience about an hour ago, so he quickly addressed his youngest companion.

"Less yapping more planning. What you thinking, Glenn?"

Taking that as his cue that the topic was closed, Glenn tried to formulate his thoughts into some kind of comprehensible order.

"We could try to create a distraction, lure the bulk of the dead ones here in another direction. But that would cost time, and we would have to split up, which could create an even more dangerous situation than we have now."

T-Dog frowned, not liking what they were hearing.

"You got a plan b?"

Glenn nodded.

"You see the building right to the left of the office store we need to get to? The alley next to it has a fire escape that leads right up to the top. There aren't as many of the dead ones in the way to that one. If we are careful, and with the help of Daryl's crossbow, we could take out the few there silently and get up to the roof."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the building Glenn was talking about. It was the same height as the one that Merle was trapped on.

"You thinking we can jump across?"

Glenn nodded.

"The buildings are close together. I suggested the same to Shane yesterday when we were looking for a way back to the ground. But we couldn't see into the alley from up there, and he thought it would be too risky. We don't have that problem now."

Daryl nodded and looked to T-Dog. The man sighed.

"Sounds like the safest option we have. Wish I would have known before, then I wouldn't have lugged the bolt cutters along. Things are heavy."

Which reminded Daryl of his little deal with Dale. He had planned to get the parts as soon as they got Merle safely off the roof and somewhere secure enough for the time it would take Daryl to rip a few cars open. Did not having to need the bolt cutters mean that Daryl didn't have to bring the old fart back any of the parts he wanted?  
It was a tempting thought, but Daryl decided to still get the stuff. The RV was old, but it was also sturdy and could provide shelter for some of the more vulnerable members of the camp if conditions got rough. Georgia wasn't a stranger to stormy weather. It was also good to have a big vehicle to stow things in, so it was really in the interest of everyone that Dale's old RV be kept running.

"Nah, might still need em for the handcuffs. Alright, then let's go."

* * *

Glenn's plan worked out perfectly. Only one of the undead had been close enough to notice them and alarm any of the others, and Daryl had swiftly taken that one out with one of his arrows. The jump across the buildings was equally easy, though T-Dog had made the mistake of looking down, and was now a little paler than before. Daryl wasted no time running the lengths of the roof, looking for his brother.

"Merle!"

Damn roof was large. Glenn's voice caught his attention.

"Over here. It was this side. Merle is right-"

The way the kid's voice suddenly cut off had Daryl fearing the worst, and he ran over to where Glenn stood. But instead of his brother's dead body, the sight greeting him was that of a pair of empty handcuffs. Thank god.

"Motherfucker! The asshole got himself out." The harsh words were accompanied by a relieved smile, though.

T-Dog, who had finally regained his bearings and joined the two, looked down at the handcuffs with a disbelieving gaze.

"You telling me we went through all this trouble for nothing?"

Daryl shrugged at the man, he really couldn't care less. His brother was alive and kicking. That was all he needed to know.

"Consider it karma or something like that, for leaving him behind in the first place."

T-Dog thought about arguing the point for a second, but decided against it. It wasn't worth starting up a possible fight with Daryl. All things considered, he didn't mind the younger Dixon. Might even grow to like the man, with time. Too bad he and his brother were a package deal.

"But shouldn't we have run across him on our way into the city?" Glenn noted carefully. "Do you think he is still around here somewhere?"

He directed the question at Daryl, who seemed to study the place his brother had been tethered to, then looked around the roof, then checked the position of the sun.

"Ain't no sweat stains on the concrete, but the sun's been up for a few hours, so I can't say if Merle got out of them cuffs a while ago or only recently. This ain't like in the woods or at the camp, where there is loose dirt and twigs and grass and shit that leave traces that I can follow. There is nothing here for me to track. Ain't no use trying to look for him in the city, he wouldn't have stayed here long. He probably only stayed long enough to find a car that he could hotwire, and then got his ass back to camp. More than one way outta the city, and he mighta have to take some side roads and stuff to avoid the dead."

T-Dog seemed skeptical.

"You think he got out of here? Through all those dead ones? Completely alone?"

He shook his head.

"My brother is the toughest son of a bitch I know. You feed him a hammer, he'll crap out nails. Ain't nobody kill Merle, but Merle. Nah. He is on his way back to camp. And we best haul ass back there as well. If we get there fast enough, I might be able to keep Merle from taking his revenge out on anyone."

He didn't care too much about Walsh _(bastard deserved a little beat down as far as Daryl was concerned)_ , but the boy clearly did. And Daryl owed Carl.

The prospect of an enraged Merle back in camp spurred on the other two and they quickly made their way back down. Halfway back at the van, some movement out of the corner of his eye caught Daryl's attention. He looked over at the tank that stood about twelve feet away from them on the other side of the alley they were currently in, and spotted what looked like a cowboy hat dangling from the turret.

"Hold on a second."

It was all the warning he gave Glenn and T-Dog and ignored their muttered questions about what was going on, as he carefully but quickly, crossbow at the ready, made his way to the end of the alley. Closer now, he was able to make out a shining golden, seven-pointed, star on it.  
Daryl and his brother had stayed mostly to themselves in camp _(and Daryl had tried to be in the woods as much as possible)_ , but he remembered the boy's mother, Lori, showing one of the other women a photo album. And he had caught a glimpse of a family photo. A slightly younger Carl, surrounded on both sides by his parents; Lori, and Lori's late husband, Carl's father. Shane's partner in the King County's Sheriff's department. _(Daryl didn't participate in small talk, but he heard a lot - more than he cared for, really - and he was good at remembering the details.)_  
In the photo, Carl's dad had been in uniform and had worn a hat that looked just like the one currently dangling from the tank's turret.

A quick look up and down the street told Daryl that the dead ones were far enough away for him to make a quick grab and be back with his two traveling companions without drawing any attention to himself.  
There was still a slight risk. There always was now.  
But Daryl owed the kid.  
He himself might not have had the best relationship with his own Pa, but from everything he had heard and observed, he was pretty sure that Carl would appreciate having this memento of the father he had clearly loved.

He shouldered his crossbow and darted out of the alley, once again ignoring the whispered yelling from T-Dog and Glenn, who had come closer in the meantime. He slid behind the cover of the big caterpillar tracks. After checking that the dead ones down the road remained oblivious to his presence, he quickly gestured to the other two to stay put, and silently climbed up to grab the hat. He didn't have as good a vantage point from the cover of the tank's tracks, but Glenn was waving to him that the path was clear. Back at the alley, Daryl quickly stuffed the hat into Glenn's backpack, earning two very confused gazes for his troubles.

"What the hell, man? What do you need a stupid hat for? Sun getting to you?"

Daryl just shook his head at T-Dog.

"Just paying my debt. Doesn't matter now. Let's get back."

While clearly not satisfied with that explanation, the other two let the matter rest for now, for which Daryl was grateful. He did not need to get into any discussions about wanting to do something nice for one of the kids back at camp. Thank god no one knew about him showing the two Morales brats how to tell a poisonous mushroom from an edible one a few days ago. Or when he had slipped Sophia some of his jerky last week. Last thing he needed was people thinking that he could be trusted - and consequently saddled - with the well being of any of the children around.

There was still the matter about the parts for Dale's RV. Daryl didn't want to spend the time it would take to gut a car, but he did still think keeping the RV in working condition was what was best. He turned slightly to Glenn.

"Hey, you remember that red sports car we came across?"

The kid had stopped in his tracks when they had passed by the Camaro convertible, wide eyed awe on his face as he had stared at the car like it was the manifestation of all his dreams.  
  
Glenn nodded, curious about where Daryl was going with this question. Said man almost smirked.

"Wanna drive it back to camp?"

The completely dumbstruck, quickly morphing into ecstatic, look on the young man's face was all the answer he needed. It would be easier to just get a whole car back to camp than take one apart in the city. Hopefully, the kid wouldn't be too heartbroken when Daryl ripped out the parts that Dale needed.

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: You know, anyone can write fluffy, happy stuff if they change a character's whole make-up like you did there. Your Daryl is far too amiable. My Daryl, the real, original one, was much angrier. And he yelled a lot more. And he wasn't as friendly with T-Dog and Glenn as you made him here.  
> Me: Well, you hardly gave Daryl a chance to act like a decent human being. Or any of the characters, actually. Your Daryl came back from hunting and some new guy told him about having left Merle cuffed to a roof in Atlanta. He didn't say it was an accident, he didn't say it was a mistake, he didn't say that anyone was planning to go back for him. And when Daryl asked for clarification the first time, after having been told where Merle is, all Rick said was 'yes'. Just that. Of course, Daryl got angry and attacked. And he did the same here. My Daryl tackled Shane and the two of them fought. But the difference is that unlike with your story progress, Canon, in my version, Daryl was given some support. T-Dog stepped up right away and told Daryl about the chained door and that he had planned on going back for Merle. Carl stopped Shane from threatening Daryl and T-Dog into staying. Glenn offered to go with them and apologized for what happened. In your version, Daryl had to listen to everyone around him saying that his brother wasn't worth going back for, and Rick had to cajole and argue about the whole thing (after he was kind of a douche to Daryl. He could have really tried to soften the blow in how he told him about his brother). Daryl isn't a bad guy, but he has a temper. And I believe I showed it. But he also acknowledges when someone does right by him.  
> Canon: That's completely different. You didn't even make him throw a tantrum when they didn't find Merle on the roof!  
> Me: Well, that might have to do with the fact that this time, he didn't find the bloody, cut off hand of his brother lying on the roof. And this time, Glenn and T-Dog have proven themselves to him as possibly decent people, due to both of them *volunteering* to go to Atlanta with him. Daryl reacted differently to the whole ordeal because I *changed* the circumstances. It would have been wrong to have him react exactly the same as he did with you, Canon, when I have already laid the groundwork for a better starting relationship between Daryl, T-Dog, Glenn (and Carl), than what had been presented by you. Which was a total douche move, what you did to him. Just so you know.  
> Canon: ... I'm not talking to you anymore.  
> Me: Fine with me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: Maybe you should give up writing. You can't even capitalize right.
> 
> Me: Well, english can be really frustrating. In german, we just decided that every noun is to be written with a capital first letter. Like: This is my House. Have you seen the Neighbour's Dog? Oh, what a lovely Car you have.  
> See? Easy. No confusion whatsoever. If it's a noun, it will be capitalized. End of story.  
> But english needs to be extra. Oh no, we write all the words with lower case letters. You know, with some exceptions. Let me introduce to you, the "proper nouns".  
> Well, thank you very much english! You frustrate me to no end!!!
> 
> Canon: See, you are hopeless. Best give up now, before you embarrass yourself further. And that way, you will stop ruining my beautifully tragic plot.
> 
> Me: Never! My Discord friends helped me out! And we decided that the 'Power of Fandom and Shipping' is strong enough to stomach a few botched capitalizations. And even the errant punctuation mistake. As well as some spelling mishaps. The 'Power of Fandom and Shipping' shall unite us all!!
> 
> Canon: Blasphemy.

Rick Grimes had never thought of himself as a superstitious, or even overly religious man. But watching as Morgan Jones hugged his crying and shaking, but alive, son to his likewise trembling frame, Rick couldn't help wondering about things like chance and fate, and how one might play into the other.

If Rick hadn't damaged the walkie when escaping from the undead in Atlanta, he would not have made the track back to King County to warn Morgan in person. And if Merle hadn't tagged along with him as thanks for freeing him from the handcuffs, Duane would very likely be dead now.

Merle Dixon, as much of an annoying, aggravating, textbook redneck loudmouth he may be, was a fantastic shot.

They had been driving down the road that Rick remembered the house Morgan and Duane had holed up in being on, when Rick saw the vague form of young Duane, a gun held in his outstretched hand, and a walker rapidly closing in on the boy. Duane had just stood, shocked into stillness, as the dead body that was once his mother was approaching, ready to bite, to eat, to kill. The kid hadn't been able to pull the trigger.

Thankfully, Merle was.

The man had taken in the scene before them in a mere moment, cursed, grabbed his rifle, barked at Rick to keep the car steady, leaned out of the side window, and taken the shot. The bullet had gone cleanly through the brain, dropping the walker and saving Duane's life.

Now Rick was no slouch with a gun either, but he doubted he would have been able to make that shot from that distance, out of a driving vehicle.

By the time they had reached the boy and gotten out of the car, Morgan had come running out of the house, clearly ruffled and disoriented, but quickly realized what had happened, _(and what had almost happened)_ and clutched his still shell shocked son to him desperately. To Rick's slight surprise, it had only taken a nod of the head and a hand signal to Merle, to communicate to the older man to keep an eye on the area, while the father son duo pulled themselves back together. And again the realization that Merle was an ex-Marine entered Rick's mind. A fact that was proving itself to be an undeniable asset in this new world he had woken up in.

While former deputy and former marine kept an eye out for any more walkers, Duane had finally calmed enough to get some words out.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I thought I could do it. I thought if I did it, then you wouldn't have to, because I know,- I know it was hurting you. And then we could get out of here and find a safe place and other people and maybe you could start being happy again. And you were sleeping, and you haven't slept a lot in the last couple days. And then I saw her outside, and I thought if I do it now, things will get better. And then I took the gun. And I thought I could do it, but then I just couldn't. I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

The kid was nearly hyperventilating with his need to get all the words out at once. Rick looked over to see the absolutely distraught look on Morgan's face, before the man regained his composure, and took his son's face softly into his hands to look lovingly into Duan's eyes.

"No, son. I'm sorry. I should have never made you feel like you needed to do my job, or carry my burdens. We should have left this place a long time ago. We should have packed up and left with Rick when he went to Atlanta. I should have put your safety first. I'm sorry, Duane. I'm so sorry."

A few more tears flowed after that, as father and son embraced each other again, and Rick waited the extra seconds before he spoke up.

"It was actually a good thing you didn't come with me to Atlanta."

Morgan looked at Rick for the first time since he had come running out of the house, where he had obviously been roused from sleep by Merle's gunshot.

"Rick. I can't thank you enough-"

The former Deputy held up a hand, shaking his head.

"I was behind the wheel. Merle's the one you need to thank."

He tilted his head to the older man, who had come closer now that all the sappy feelings stuff seemed to be done with. Morgan stood from where he had been crouched on the street, keeping a hand on his son's shoulder, while offering the other for the man to shake.

"Thank you so much. I'm Morgan Jones. This is my son, Duane."

Merle looked at the offered hand with a raised eyebrow, before sneering and averting his gaze.

"I'm not enough of a bastard to watch a kid get killed, but that don't mean I'm gonna be all buddy-buddy with some nig-" Merle caught himself on the briefest glance down to the boy that had pressed himself into his father's side. "-with any damn person I come across."

The intended slur was apparent to both other adults, and neither was happy about it. But this man had saved Duane's life, and Morgan decided to let it be. For now. So instead of trying to educate the racist, Morgan turned back to Rick.

"So what happened in Atlanta?" There was deep sympathy in his eyes. "Do you know if your family was there?"

Before Rick could answer, Merle interrupted gruffly.

"How about we take this game of twenty fucking questions somewhere inside? Only a matter of time before some more walkers come stumbling our way."

While the others couldn't help but concede Merle's point, Morgan still turned to Rick with a questioning look.

"Walkers?"

* * *

"I must say, that is quite a story."

Rick just nodded to Morgan's assessment of his recap. Back in the house that Morgan and Duane had been holed up in for the past days, the men had taken the opportunity to eat and drink from the slowly dwindling supplies the house's pantry had to offer. While Rick filled his friend in on what had happened to lead him back here, Merle had taken it upon himself to teach Duane how to properly handle a gun.  
 _(The one the boy had held against his mother's walking corpse had still had the safety on. Merle had felt personally insulted by this. "You don't lay a hand on a weapon unless you know good and well how to use it. Gonna blow your own fool head off like that! How old are ya, kid? 10? And still don't know how to use one of these? What do them people teach you kids in school nowadays? My baby brother could already maintain and shoot a shotgun by the age of 6! Crossbow took a bit longer, since the runt needed to built up some muscle in his noodle arms first. But a little hand gun like this ain't no problem. Alright, come over here. I'mma show you how this works.")_

Morgan had been very skeptical of leaving his son in the dubious care of the racist redneck, but Rick had managed to reassure him, slightly.

"Merle is.. an asshole. But not a dangerous one. Not to a kid. I may only know him a few hours worth, but of this I'm sure. Let's call it cop instinct. And as much as I hate saying this, Duane needs to learn how to protect himself. This world isn't safe, especially for kids. Merle's ex-marine. He knows what he is doing."

And he did, though the way he explained things to young impressionable ears left a lot to be desired.  
 _("Your finger is only ever on the trigger when you intend to pull it. There is just too much that can go hell fucking wrong otherwise. Being jostled, slipping, a fucking muscle spasm at the wrong time and bam! Best case scenario you waste a bullet. Worst case you blow out the brains of some poor motherfucker that didn't deserve it. Had a rookie on my team once. The sorry son of a bitch was right out of boot camp and into an overseas mission. Some infiltration, nothing out of the ordinary, but the guy was a nervous little fucker. Kept his finger tight on his trigger. We enter a house to make sure there ain't no hostiles there, suddenly the door to the next room bangs open. New guy turns and pulls the trigger. Killed a little girl, who was just running in after her puppy. I confiscated the gun and sent the guy back to the barracks right away, but that didn't make the little girl any less dead. The guilt was too much for the rookie. Hung himself two days later. So there is a lesson ta be learned here, boy. A gun ain't no toy, and you always gotta be careful with it. You can point and aim it at a target, but the only damn time your finger is ever on that trigger here, is when you are ready and willing to pull it, and not a second sooner. Any other time, it rests right here, see? Just slightly above, easy reach, but not directly on it. You get that?" Duane had nodded in some kind of awed, horrified shock)_

While Morgan would have dearly wished for the older man to impart his wisdom in a less potentially traumatizing way, he couldn't argue against its effectiveness, as he saw the all-consuming concentration with which his son listened to every word that came out of the ex-marine's mouth and paid close attention to the gun.

Turning back to the former Deputy, Morgan resumed their talk.

"And the military just killed all those people?"

It was a horrible thing to think, and an even more horrible thing to accept as fact. But Rick nodded.

"If I hadn't seen the state of the city with my own eyes... Merle said it's some kind of emergency protocol. Culling the herd, to diminish the threat. But apparently it's a person's death that triggers the.. the change? The transformation? Whatever it is that these walkers are. I have seen some of them that had the lower parts of their body blown off, and they were just crawling along, trying to get at us. Others had some clear bullet wounds on them. Some were still trapped underneath the rubble of destroyed buildings. It was... it was hell."

The first time that Rick had really had an opportunity to truly process what had happened ever since he had made his way to Atlanta, hell, ever since he woke up from his coma, was on the drive with Merle back to King County. Up until this very moment, he had still felt removed from it all. As if trapped in some vicious hallucination, some kind of waking nightmare. But the reality of the situation was finally and unmercifully dawning on him in all its cruelty. The world he had known, was gone.

Apparently Morgan had the same realization, as he was slowly coming to terms with everything he had just heard and learned.

"In the news, they said that it was the bite... They said that if you were bit, or scratched by one of the infected... Jenny was bit,.. but she was bit in the neck. The, the _walker_ tore out her throat. She died of blood loss..."

He stopped there, unable to finish the sentence, but Rick understood what he meant. He and Merle had had a similar discussion in the car.

"There were hundreds in Atlanta. It's just not possible that all those people had been bit or scratched before the bombs dropped. That can't be what causes the change. The only way to put them down for good is to destroy the brain. It's gotta be connected to that. Something happens to the brain when you die. Something.. takes over."  
  
Rick had been an officer of the law for years. Finding pieces to a puzzle and putting them together was his job, and he had had a lot of time to think over every bit of information that he had found, and that Merle had provided him with, to work on this particular puzzle on the drive over. Morgan's eyes widened as he arrived at the same conclusion that Rick had some time ago.

"But then that means that these people-"

"Were already infected. We probably all are."

What a horrible, horrible thing to realize.

"But, how? This couldn't have come out of nowhere."

Rick shrugged at his friend's question, taking another sip of his water before answering.

"Don't know. A new kind of warfare? A biological weapon that got out of hand? A failed experiment? A whim of nature, perhaps? I'm less concerned about it's origin, and more about how the infection spread."

Morgan gave a thoughtful hum.

"Before telecommunication collapsed, they said it was everywhere. Reports of the dead coming back to life came from all over the world. There was no discerning time lapse between those cases, not like it started in one part of the world and then jumped to another. It was just ... everywhere."

"Then it can't be something localized. Not something specific that we eat or drink. Not some kind of flora or fauna we come into contact with. Not some special type of medicine."

They both knew where their deductions were leading, though Morgan still felt that it needed to be spoken out loud. Like a final reality check.

"It's airborne. Somewhere, somehow, this virus, or whatever the hell it is, got into our atmosphere, into the air we breathe. Everywhere."

Rick nodded.

"So if we die.."

"We become one of them."

It was a solemn note to end their talk on, and both men took a big gulp from their glasses, wishing the water would miraculously turn into alcohol. They were silent for a few seconds, staring at each other, their drinks, the room around them. Listening to the still ongoing gun safety lesson in the adjoining room. Finally, Morgan addressed Rick once more.

"Do you think the bite is just that, then? A bite?"

Again, all Rick could do was shrug.

"Could be. Could just as well carry an infection on its own as well, speed up the process. But even if it doesn't, we should avoid it no matter what. It's still a potentially fatal wound, depending on where and how severe the bite is."

Not that Morgan needed convincing on that part. After all, it had been how his Jenny had perished the first time.

"Agreed."

This time the silence between the two men was shorter, as Rick looked right into Morgan's eyes.

"Come with us. It's not safe here for you and Duane. I don't think anyone is safe alone anymore. My wife and son, Merle's brother, my best friend, they are at some quarry a few miles out of Atlanta. With a group of survivors. We need numbers. Eyes and ears to watch out for danger. More people who can wield a weapon. We go and collect them, and then find somewhere safe. Together."

Morgan nodded, a small smile stealing over his face.

"You must be anxious to see your family again. We still have a few hours of sunlight left, do you think we can make the trip now, or should we wait out the night and start tomorrow morning?"

Instead of answering right away, Rick turned to Merle and raised his voice for the older man to hear him in the other room.

"Merle! Would it be safe for us to make for the quarry today?"

The man let out a harsh laugh, startling the boy next to him slightly.

"Safe? Ain't nothing safe no more, Officer Friendly. But I reckon we ain't gonna be in more danger if we haul ass now, than if we wait until tomorrow. Should have enough light left to make it to the group before the sun sets. We bringing your friends?"

Rick made sure to pin Merle with his firmest no-nonsense look when he answered him.

"Yes. And I would thank you to keep your supremacist attitude and insults to a minimum. That goes for when we are at camp, too."

If Merle was angry about Rick's demand, he didn't show it.

"Ain't making no promises. Now if you two are done with your little tea party over there, let's get a move on. The sooner I get back, the sooner I get to have myself a little talk with that partner of yours."

Rick winced at that. He would have to try and talk Merle out of any violent retaliation against his best friend on the way. He knew Shane wouldn't have done what he did on a whim. He just needed a chance to clear the air between the volatile Dixon and his partner before both of them came to blows. Or worse.

He quickly turned back to Morgan.

"Anything you need to pack?"

The other man shook his head.

"We have been living out of our packs for the last few days. Got some water and food that should keep for a while, in the car. We can be ready to go in five minutes."

The former deputy smiled in relief.

"Great, let's get going."

* * *

With Merle's crash course still fresh in his mind, and the promise that they would find a place for Duane to practice shooting as soon as possible, Morgan had agreed to let his son keep the handgun. Rick was right, this world wasn't safe anymore, and though the thought of his little boy having to use the weapon was abhorrent, he much preferred it to Duane being defenseless in an emergency.

Morgan himself had chosen one of the 9mm guns from Rick's duffle bag, being more used to a small-caliber weapon than the assortment of rifles. Loading up their car with his and Duane's backpacks, as well as a few blankets and first aid supplies they had taken from the house, Morgan had kept half of his attention on his son, and the other half on three of the dead ones, _(or walkers, as Rick and Merle called them)_ that were ambling down a side street. Thankfully they seemed to be too far away to see or hear the four of them, but non of them wanted to risk this changing before they were all safely ensconced in their vehicles and driving away.

It was due to this, being so focused on a possible threat far away, that Morgan missed the one that was far too close.

One moment he was closing the trunk of his car, and the next he heard a vicious snarl right behind him.

"Dad!"

"Morgan!"

"Fuck!"

He spun around, only to find himself trapped between the back of his car and the already descending jaws of the walker. He reached for his gun, knowing that he wouldn't get it up in time. The tearing of flesh was accompanied by a grunt of pain as the walker bit down, though it wasn't Morgan's voice making the painful sound. And neither was it his flesh that was broken by teeth.

"Son of a bitch!"

Merle cursed as the walker bit down on the arm he had hastily thrust between it's teeth and the vulnerable part of Morgan's neck. He hauled his arm and the walker currently attached to it back a step and quickly unsheathed the bowie knife strapped to his hip. Just before the walker was able to tear out a chunk of his arm, Merle sunk the knife deep into the back of its head, killing it instantly.

"Merle!"

Rick was at his side in a second, kicking away the rotting corpse that had tried to make a meal out of the Dixon.

"How bad is it? Let me see!"

Duane had run to his father, having been spooked by the near miss and clutching on to him desperately. Rick and Merle both stared down at the bitten arm, watching as blood welled up and ran down its length.

"Well, shit."

Snarls were heard from behind them, the three walkers that had been previously too far away, now locked on to them.

"Back into the house!" Rick shouted as he took the rear of their fleeing group, gun raised and ready, but not yet firing in the hopes of not drawing any more walkers their way.

Inside Rick and Morgan wasted no time in shoving the heavy oak dresser from the hallway against the front door, as an extra measure against the three undead that were already throwing themselves against the entrance their prey had fled through. Duane meanwhile had taken Merle's elbow and guided the man back onto the couch. The boy was eyeing the bleeding wound with wide, frightened eyes.

"D-does it hurt?"

Merle was not used to having big, scared eyes directed at him. _(Well, not the ones of a child, at least. Plenty of adults, though)_

"Eh, I've had worse. Make yourself useful, kid, and get old Merle some towels from the bathroom."

Thankfully Duane didn't need to be told twice and ran up the stairs right away. Morgan and Rick took his place beside Merle and inspected the wound critically.

"It doesn't seem too deep, but we need to clean it and stop the bleeding."

Morgan nodded to Rick's assessment.

"There is no running water, but there is only the three walkers right out front. We can take the back door and deal with them quickly, then get some of the water out of my car, as well as the first aid supplies."

Merle snorted.

"What the hell you wanna do that for? This shit is like aids, right? You get bit, you die. Ain't no need to waste water and meds on me. Just put a bullet in my brain and be done with it."

Rick was vehemently shaking his head before Merle had even finished speaking.

"No. We don't know that the bite is fatal. We are not just going to shoot you when we don't have to."

"It's what they said in the news, Friendly. When you were getting your beauty sleep in that hospital of yours."

Morgan countered Merle's statement before Rick could.

"They also said that it was the bite and scratch that turned you, but they were wrong about that. Who is to say they weren't wrong about this one as well?"

Merle narrowed his eyes.

"Tomatoes, potatoes. I ain't gonna lay here like a pussy and wait for this infection to do me in. It's fucking pathetic!"

But Rick was not to be deterred.

"How much more pathetic would it be for you to blow your brains out, over something that might result in no more than a bit of a fever? Come on Merle, we talked about this. It's death that turns a person. Now maybe the news was right, and the bite also carries over an infection, and maybe this infection can turn out to be deadly, but we don't know that! Okay? _We don't know_. And as long as we aren't absolutely sure that being bitten by one of those things is a death sentence, we will treat it like we would any other wound. So what we are gonna do is get your arm cleaned up, bandage it, and get some antibiotics in your system to fight off whatever possible infection there might be."

Merle looked ready to argue again, so Rick just barrelled on.

"Or do you want me to tell your brother that you decided to opt out cause you had a little booboo?"

That one seemed to do the trick, and Merle shut his mouth just in time for Duane to come racing down the stairs, a bunch of clean, white towels clutched in his hands. The boy gave Merle two of the towels to staunch the bleeding with and then turned to his father.

"What are we gonna do, Dad?"

The man laid a calming hand on his son's shoulder.

"You stay here and make sure that Merle keeps pressure on that. Rick and I will get out to the cars real quick and get the first aid stuff and water."

At that moment a particularly loud groan from one of the walkers still trying to get through the door was heard, causing Duane to look at his father in fear. Morgan smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, son. It's all going to be okay. You just stay here, it won't take long. I promise."

The young boy tried his best to swallow his fear and nod his understanding, then he turned back to Merle and made the man adjust his hold on the already blood-soaked towel. Merle eyed both other adults with a frown, then let go of the towel _(much to Duane's displeasure, who quickly replaced the big man's hand with his own)_ and grabbed his knife from where it laid beside him on the couch.

"I still think you are fucking stupid, but if you gonna do it, do it right." He held out the knife, handle first, to Rick. "Name of the game is stealth. Guns are too loud, will just draw more walkers. I saw another knife in that duffle of yours, so arm your friend with that one. You sneak up on those three outside. You watch your steps, you don't make a sound. You stab them from behind, up the throat, where there ain't as much bone in the way. Won't take as much strength as having to bust through the skull. Knives are long enough to reach the brain. If there are more than those three, you fucking abort the mission and get your asses back inside."

It was a weird change, to see the military man in Merle shine through, but Rick took the knife handed to him with a decisive nod. Even though he might disregard the order of abandoning the supplies for Merle if there happened to be more than three walkers outside that door. With the second knife from the gun bag in Morgan's steady hands, the two of them hurried to the back door.

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: Booooring.
> 
> Me: What now?
> 
> Canon: Your chapter is boooooooooring. Nothing really happens here. Just a bunch of dialogue. You are really desperate to have the characters explain all your plot points.
> 
> Me: Oh, yeah, cause your information dump at the CDC was sooo much better...
> 
> Canon: It was! There was an explosion at the end! Everything is better with explosions! Just ask Michael Bay!!!
> 
> Me: ... It's time for my daily prayer: 
> 
> Our Fanfiction who art on the Internet,  
> hallowed be thy Authors;  
> thy Genres come;  
> Thy Rickyl be done in words as thy be in art.  
> Give us this day our daily tropes,  
> and forgive us our angsty stories,  
> as we forgive those who hate on our ship,  
> and lead us not into writer's block,  
> but deliver us from canon.  
> For thine is the fandom,  
> and the imagination, and the glorious comments,  
> for Daryl and Rick.
> 
> Amen.
> 
> Canon: ... BLASPHEMY!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Ah, this chapter was so much fun to write. You know, apart from the times when I obsessed over finding the perfect word for this and rewriting sentences a bunch of times so they made sense. But other than that, totally fun!
> 
> Canon: Well, if anyone cares to know what I think of this chapter-
> 
> Me: No.
> 
> Canon: I think-
> 
> Me: Did you not hear me say 'NO'?

Arriving back at the quarry mid-afternoon, the three men were surprised when Jacqui and Andrea, serious expressions on their faces, bee-lined for them right as they exited their respective cars. _(T-Dog and Daryl climbing out of the van, while Glenn took another moment of just enjoying sitting in a 100000 dollar car, before opening the door.)_

Fearing the worst, Daryl all but ran to the two women.

"What is it? What did Merle do?"

If his brother had gotten back before them, which wasn't unlikely, he might have done something stupid in order to get back at Walsh for leaving him behind. And Daryl knew that Walsh wouldn't hesitate to draw his gun on Merle. And neither would he hesitate to pull the trigger.

Andrea and Jacqui looked slightly taken aback by the younger Dixon's questions, noticeably confused. 

"What? No. Merle isn't here. I thought... Did you not find him in the city?"

Andrea's voice held sympathy in light of the things she dared not ask. _("Were you too late? Is he dead?")_  
There was no love lost between her and Merle, but Daryl wasn't the same as his brother, and she wouldn't wish the death of a sibling on anyone.

Daryl shook his head.

"He got his ass free by himself, we only found the empty handcuffs on the roof. Thought he would beat us back here. If it ain't about Merle, why are the two of you looking so damn stressed for?"

Before any more confusion could spread, Jacqui decided to clear the air.

"It's not about your brother. Or, well, it is, but not like that. After almost a day stewing in the sun, we thought Merle might have heatstroke. Andrea and I were part of the run crew yesterday, and the fallout of that is just as much on us as everyone else. Andrea knows basic first aid, and I have some experience with treating someone who suffers from the effects of the sun."

Andrea nodded and held up the bottle of water she was carrying.

"We brought some water from the lake as well and stashed it by your tent, together with some towels, in case he needed some cold compresses. Look, I don't think Shane was wrong with how he handled Merle yesterday, because your brother was out of control and I'm not ashamed to admit that I was scared of what he might do. But leaving him to die was not our intention, and Shane shouldn't have tried to stop you from going back for him earlier."

Unable to form a response to that, Daryl just looked at the two women before him, stunned. He wasn't used to this. First Carl taking his side against his honorary uncle, then T-Dog and Glenn going back into what could have easily turned out to be a death trap with him. And now Jacqui and Andrea, two women whose education and social standing put them so far above him that they should have seen him as nothing more than the dirt underneath their shoes, offering help and apologies _(even if those hadn't been explicitly stated, Daryl had heard them non the less)_.  
  
These were decent people. Daryl wasn't used to being among decent people. And much less to being treated fairly.

Uncomfortable with not knowing how to act in the face of this, the hunter scanned over the group frantically in order to find something to steer the conversation on to a different note.

"Where is Walsh anyway? I was expecting him to keep up guard at the entrance, just in case he felt like he needed to finish the job with Merle."

He ignored Glenn's quiet "Come on, man. Shane wouldn't do that.", and instead kept searching for the broad-shouldered form of the former deputy among the other camp dwellers.

Andrea answered his question with a curious mix of satisfaction and anger.

"He is taking a walk around the camp in order to cool off, after beating Ed's face in."

The three men looked shocked at that.

"He did what?" T-Dog's voice was a little on the incredulous side, but he didn't doubt Andrea's words. He hadn't forgotten that Shane had pulled a gun on him.

Jacqui huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"That excuse of a man has been beating on his wife. Andrea saw the bruises on her, and when she confronted Ed with it, he attacked both her and Carol. Shane saw it all and beat him bloody. I think he only stopped because Carol was in hysterics over it. He threatened Ed to never lay a hand on his wife or daughter again, and then stormed off."

Glenn had paled considerably.

"I, I never guessed... I mean, I noticed the way Carol would sometimes look scared and things, but I thought that was because of the situation we are in. With the geeks and everything. And I thought Sophia was just really shy... I... I don't understand. We would have helped them. Protected them from him. Why didn't she ever say anything?"

Daryl's hands, one around the strap of his crossbow and the other by his side, balled into tight fists. Old anger and frustration rearing their ugly heads.

"They never do."

He pressed on before anyone could ask him to elaborate on his statement.

"So Walsh might not be a useless cop after all. Good. Where are the woman and her girl now?"

Daryl mentally chastised himself. It was one thing for someone like Glenn to be ignorant of what was going on with the Peletiers, but Daryl should have noticed. He had first-hand experience with this, after all. If he hadn't escaped into the woods all the time and done his best to ignore everyone but Merle _(and sometimes even him)_ , he would have seen the signs. He could have taken Ed with him for some 'hunting assistance' and warned him off. Could have made a comment to one of the other women to keep an eye on the wife and child. Could have told Merle to keep an eye on Ed _(though that one might have ended with Ed even worse off than what Shane apparently did to him)_. Could have swallowed his dislike for Walsh and informed him of his suspicions. _(Whether or not the former deputy would have believed him was another matter.)_

"Not staying with Ed any longer, if that's what you mean. Jim, Amy, and I took all of Carol and Sophia's things from Ed's tent and moved them into Dale's RV. The Morales took all the kids down to the lake. We are all hoping to shield Sophia from as much of this as possible."

Daryl suppressed a derisive comment at Andrea's words. These were decent people, he had to remind himself. It wasn't their fault that they were so naive. He doubted the girl didn't know what was going on. She was a quiet kid, but an observant one. Daryl had seen the way she kept eyeing everyone when they all sat around the fires at night. How she would scoot closer to her mother, whenever someone got up and walked too close to them. How she would flinch at every sound or movement she couldn't match to her direct surroundings right away. How she spoke in a soft voice with the other, louder and more boisterous, kids. How she only ever talked with an adult when said adult spoke to her directly. Always averting her eyes. Such behaviors didn't just happen, didn't just manifest for no reason. But were rather adopted out of necessity.

He should have realized what it all meant. He should have known. He should have fucking known!

"Carol tried to play nurse to her husband, so Lori steered her away from their tent and asked her to help with making dinner. Jacqui skinned and gutted the squirrels you hurled at Shane earlier, and Lori has been keeping Carol busy with cutting up the meat and canned vegetables."

Surprised, Daryl turned his focus to the black woman. 

"You know how to prep the kills?"

Jacqui smiled a thin, sheepish smile.

"I used to date someone with a great love for the outdoors. We would go camping once or twice a month, as much as our schedules allowed for it. I was bad at hunting and tracking, but she taught me how to properly gut and skin small animals. I'm a little out of practice, I'm afraid. I wasted the meat of two of the squirrels cutting into the large intestine."

While she sent Daryl an apologetic look, the three men had very different reactions to what they had just learned about her.

Glenn looked at her in awe.

"That's so badass."

T-Dog was surprised.

"You are gay?" To which Andrea quickly threw in "She is bi, actually. Same as me. You don't have a problem with that, do you T?" The man quickly threw up his hands in surrender and shook his head. "No, no, of course not. Just surprised me a bit, is all."

Daryl looked contemplative.

"Is difficult with the smaller critters if you don't have a proper hunting knife." He unstrapped the sheathed knife from his belt and held it out to her. "Keep it on you, and keep it sharp."

Jacqui tried to decline.

"I can't take your knife from you."

The hunter scoffed and pressed the sheathed knife firmly into her hands.

"I've got a back up in the tent. This camp has too few weapons as it is, and even less people capable of using 'em. At least you know how to handle a knife."

T-Dog, who was still trying to escape Andrea's suspicious frown, quickly turned to Daryl.

"You think that's necessary? Arming more people in camp? This place has been safe so far."

If Daryl were the type of person who rolled their eyes, he was sure he would be dizzy by this point. He needed a smoke.

"One of those fucking undead freaks was gnawing on my deer just this morning, close to camp. In the weeks we've been here, Merle and I have killed about two dozen that were lumbering around the woods. Look around you."

He swept his arm in a long arch, indicating the campgrounds, and everyone followed the movement, taking in their surroundings.

"We might be surrounded by trees and cliffs, but this is still a wide-open field. The tents are too far apart, making the space we need to patrol too large and hard to guard. Ground around the edges of the camp is too uneven to place effective tripwires, and the trees obstruct a clear view of possible incoming dead. Merle's been bitching about the perimeter for days. City is a few hours of foot travel away, but it's been months since the outbreak, what makes you think there won't be more than the few rotting stragglers so far, that will find their way here? All y'all are making too much noise, I can usually hear you way out in the forest, when I'm coming back from a hunt. Especially the kids when they's playing around."  
 _(Except for Sophia, who never dared raise her voice as high as the other brats. He should have fucking known!)_  
"The cars ain't in a position to make a quick get away if we need it, and there is only the one dirt road wide enough for driving them through. It's a bottleneck situation waiting to happen. And that's not even the only issue here."

The other four had grown considerably more worried and wide-eyed while listening to him, and Glenn swallowed thickly before asking.

"What else is there?"

Fucking people. Fucking stupid people. Daryl wrestled the beaten pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out. He was growing agitated. He never had to explain such things to Merle, because Merle already knew. And if they ever disagreed on something, or if Daryl wasn't willing to go along with his brother's way of things, they had it out with each other. They would fight about it, with their words or their fists, or both. The Dixon brothers had a long-standing history and familiarity with violence, and they knew how to handle it as well as each other. Point was, they didn't do all this questions and answers stuff. Sure, Merle had taught Daryl many things in their time together, but Daryl had never been as clueless about the fundamentals the explanations were built on, like these people were. And he couldn't shout at them for it, and he _wouldn't_ lay a fucking hand on them for it. Not like he and Merle did. That was different. These were decent people. Wasn't their fault that they were naive. Wasn't their fault that they didn't have any experience with things like this. That they had never before needed to be worried about things like this.

Finally, a cigarette was in his mouth and hastily lit. The first inhale of tobacco calmed him down enough to endure their gazes and attention on him for a bit longer.

"Food. There is too many mouths to feed here and game's been getting scarce. I don't know if that is because we been hunting too much, or because the animals are feeling danger approaching and went for greener pastures. Ain't enough wild berries and herbs growing around here to make up for what we will be missing in meat portions soon, and no, Glenn, you can't make many more runs into the city. Walsh may be a bastard, but he was right about the city being overrun. Going with a group is a liability, but going alone is too dangerous, especially if you need to find new stores that haven't been scavenged yet."

Again Daryl's words left the other four stumped. They hadn't considered any of the things the younger Dixon brother had just listed off. It seemed unfair, in a way, that the safety they had associated with the camp was suddenly and so easily in question.

Daryl inhaled another lungful of smoke, though whatever calmness it had brought him at first, was giving way to anxiety the longer the others kept staring at him. He needed to get away from them.

"I'm gonna go patrol the perimeter, just in case Merle ain't driving his ass back here in a car. But call me if you see him coming from the road. If I can get him settled and calm, we can talk about finding a safer place with the rest of the group. This quarry was good for a while, but we're gonna need something more permanent."

He was just about to turn around and walk away when Glenn's voice stopped him.

"Something more permanent? But, do we really need that? I mean, I get what you are saying about the camp here, but it's not like we will need to hide out much longer, right? It's been almost 4 months, the governments must be close to getting on top of this. Like, scientists all over the world are working on this, surely they will ... surely things will get back to normal soon... Right?"

He looked to the people next to him, T-Dog giving him a shrug of his shoulders and tilt of the head in what could be interpreted as cautious agreement. Andrea looked contemplative, weighing the probabilities in her mind, but clearly trying for a hopeful look. Jacqui seemed more reserved, unable to meet Glenn's questioning gaze. When he looked to Daryl, he was disheartened, though not really surprised, to see the hunter look back at him with as much incredulity as the usually distant man was able to pull off.   
Then Daryl just shook his head, snorted, and turned to leave. The softly muttered "Stupid, naive, fucking people." was probably not supposed to be heard by them. 

He made it only about three steps before Jacqui called out to him.

"Daryl, wait a moment!"

She was at his side seconds later, and held out a pack of nuts _(one of the spoils of yesterdays run into the city)_ and a water bottle to him.

"You went for Atlanta right after getting back to camp this morning. I doubt the three of you had an opportunity to grab anything to eat or drink city, but Glenn and T had at least had breakfast today."

Just like he had done to her with the knife, she didn't wait for him to take her offerings and instead just pressed them into his chest, causing him to grab them automatically. She went back to camp before he could try to give them back.

_These were decent people._

Stupid and naive and completely unprepared for this new world they now lived in.

But decent.

Daryl wasn't used to being among decent people. There had never been an abundance of those in the world before, not in his experience, and there certainly couldn't be too many more of those left in the world now.

He looked back at where Glenn, T-Dog and Andrea were still standing, catching the odd word about the military and the government and the scientists, listening to half-formed speculations and attempted reassurances and watching as friendly hands were placed on shoulders and hopeful smiles given out.  
  
He looked down to the pack of nuts and bottle of water in his hands.

These were decent people. Daryl didn't think that this new world would be kind to them.

* * *

Two hours later and Merle still hadn't returned to camp. But Daryl wasn't worried. His brother had been most likely waylaid or sidetracked. Maybe Merle had needed to take some detours to avoid clusters of the living dead. Maybe he had needed to take a few breaks to find something to eat and drink. Maybe he had found something worth raiding and was going to come back any minute now with a butt load of weapons and ammo and provisions.  
Or maybe he had found a liquor store back in Atlanta and was drinking himself silly, smirking that smirk of his at the thought of his little brother being out of his mind worrying about his fucking infuriating ass.

But Daryl _wasn't_ worried.

Pacing along the lines of the camp's perimeter certainly wasn't gonna bring Merle back any sooner, but watching as the Morales herded the children back from the lake had reminded him of the debt he still needed to repay.

Getting the hat from Glenn, and still not answering the questioning look the Korean had given him, Daryl slowly approached the tent Carl was sharing with his mother. The boy was alone there, apparently looking for something in one of his bags, which suited Daryl just fine. No way in hell did he want an audience for this.

"Hey kid."

Carl looked up from his search in surprise, clearly not having heard the man come closer. The boy was far too ignorant of his surroundings. Just like everyone fucking else in this camp. Stupid city slickers.

"Oh, uhm, hey Daryl. I, uh, Mom told me that you didn't find Merle in Atlanta. I'm really sorry."

The kid was nervous, uncomfortable, and unable to meet Daryl's eyes. Daryl understood that.

"Nah, ain't no need for you to be sorry. Merle's fine, just dragging his damn ass for some reason or other."

Carl looked up at him at that, his hands nervously rubbing against each other.

"You really think so? You don't think he is.."

'Dead' was the word the boy couldn't say. It was also the word that Daryl couldn't allow himself to think. So he shook his head.

"Nah. My brother is the toughest asshole around. No way those undead freaks are gonna do him in." He wasn't worried. _He wasn't._ "Anyway, I'm not here about him. I'm here to, well..."

God damn it, Daryl was not good with this shit. He quickly thrust the hat he had been holding at his side in Carl's direction. It startled the boy almost enough into taking a step back, before he hesitantly took the stetson in his hands. When he brought it closer, his eyes slowly widened, recognizing the hat for what it was.

"Look, kid, you had my back this morning against that assh- against Shane, and I know that couldn't have been easy, because Wal-, _Shane_ is important to you, right? Anyway, what you did? I appreciate that. I saw this thing in the city, and I remembered the photos your mama is always shoving under everyone's nose. I ain't sure if it's exactly the same kinda hat like your daddy was wearing in those, but I thought-"

Daryl was horrified when he saw a tear sliding down the still slightly round cheek of the boy. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Kid had lost his father before all of this, of course he didn't want a stupid hat that would remind him of that. It had been a fucking stupid idea.  
He searched his mind quickly for the right words to try to placate the kid, when all of a sudden, Carl almost bowled him over. At first he thought the kid was trying to hit him, get out some of his righteous anger over the ill-advised gift. And Daryl would have been okay with that. He would have stood there and taken it. But that wasn't what happened at all.

Instead of beating his small fists into Daryl's abdomen, as he should have, Carl had wrapped his arms around the man's midsection, _(the hat tightly clutched in one hand)_ , buried his face into Daryl's shirt, and cried.

"Thank you... thank you..."

In all his 33 years of life, Daryl had never felt as fucking helpless as he did right then. Hands hovering uselessly in the air above the child that was currently _crying his eyes out on him and thanking him_ , the man had no fucking clue what he was supposed to do. He quickly looked around them, both hoping that no one was witness to this scene, and also hoping that someone more capable than him to handle this kind of situation _(which was pretty much fucking **everyone** )_, would appear out of thin air to save him. He didn't know if his prayers had been answered or not when he spotted Lori standing not too far away from him, close enough to have heard every word between the two of them. _(And when had she gotten there? Daryl was clearly starting to slack off if he hadn't noticed her approach. Getting too fucking comfortable, he was gonna end up worse than these city folks if he didn't put a fucking lid on that)_

But instead of hurrying over to pry her son away from him, _(like she should!)_ she smiled some kind of soft, grateful smile at him, and then held her hand up over her mouth and looked all touched and shit. What the hell? Was the woman not worried that the dirty redneck was going to corrupt her kid or something? Fucking shit! What the hell was he supposed to do?!

To his immense relief, Carl managed to get a hold of himself before Daryl was forced to do anything drastic _(like run away or hug the boy back)_ , and freed the hunter from his embrace. Taking a step back, Carl roughly scrubbed his arm over his eyes, trying to wipe away his remaining tears. Then he smiled at Daryl, with some slight embarrassment.

"Thank you. This is exactly like the hat my dad had. It even says King County on the star! My dad always let me wear it when I wasn't feeling well. I wanted to grab it when Shane came and got us out of the city, but everything went so fast and then we were suddenly in the car and driving away. Do you think one of my dad's and Shane's colleagues lost it when they evacuated everyone to the refugee centers? Do you think maybe they got out before the bombs dropped? Do you think they are still alive? Do you think they will want it back?"

Running away had never been as appealing an option to Daryl as right then. Thankfully, Lori finally took pity on the man and came over.

"I think whoever it is who lost it, alive or not, won't mind if you keep it. Your dad's fellow deputies were all really nice people. They wouldn't take it from you."

The boy nodded, smile widening, and lost no time to put the stetson on his head.

"How do I look?"

The hat was clearly too big and there was an awkward looking balancing act until Carl found a position that kept it on his head, but out of his eyes. Still, Lori smiled down at her son adoringly.

"Just like your father."

There were tears in her eyes. Oh god. Was she going to cry too? Daryl needed to get away as fast as possible. He was already taking a careful step backward, hoping to make a silent escape, when Lori seemingly shook the sadness away and looked to him.

"I came over to tell you two that we've got dinner ready. Everyone is gathering around the fires. You should come too, Daryl. I don't think I have seen you eat anything today."

Thank fucking god.

"Nah, I had some nuts earlier. I'll make another round along the perimeter. Still got some time left before sun down, so Merle should show his ugly mug soon. We'll join you once I'm sure he's calm. Well, as calm as Merle can be, anyway. Shouldn't be too long."

It shouldn't be. Merle would come back any minute now. His brother was the toughest motherfucker out there. Daryl wasn't worried.

**He wasn't.**

He managed to give a quick nod to Carl, who returned it and ended up having his too big hat falling over his eyes for his troubles, and then Daryl quickly retreated to the edges of camp.

Fuck.

Glenn and T-Dog going with him back to Atlanta. Andrea and Jacqui preparing to help out with Merle. Carl thanking and _hugging_ him. Lori worrying about him not having eaten yet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

_Decent people._

These were decent people.

He hurried his steps, going deeper into the woods.

They were a bunch of unprepared, stupid, naive city slickers. They didn't know the first thing about survival. Sure, Walsh was a cop and could shoot a gun, and Jacqui could prep a kill. Glenn was good with strategy and T-Dog wasn't bad with a machete. But that wasn't enough. That would never be enough. His first week in camp, Daryl had had to keep Carol from putting poisonous mushrooms into the stew she was cooking for everyone. Merle had caught Dale incorrectly maintaining his rifle and had lectured the old man on proper cleaning for damn near an hour. They had no idea how to tell the time by the position of the sun, or how to navigate without the GPS on their phones. They hadn't even known how to build up a proper fire pit, before the Dixon brothers had gotten to camp. The kids were still being taught math and shit, as if school was gonna start up again any day now. Glenn had just earlier made clear his belief that things would be going back to normal soon.  
These people were useless and living in denial. They were a fucking liability.

The hunter stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily. A look around showed that he had gotten farther away from camp than he had intended. He could still see the light glow of the fires between the trees though, and the wind still carried the occasional voice his way.

Stupid.

_Decent people. God damn fucking decent people. This new world wasn't gonna be fucking kind to decent people._

Merle was going to want to go. Cut their losses and leave these folks to their own devices. Merle had agreed not to rob the camp blind, as had been his original plan, when Daryl had thrown down with him over it, because there were children here. But his older brother wasn't a babysitter to a bunch of city slickers. The Dixons would be better off on their own.

Staying with a group so unprepared and incapable of the basics of survival wasn't smart.

Keeping his brother from throwing a fit and the stupid, decent people alive was going to be a fucking pain in the ass.

Daryl sighed deeply. He had never been accused of being particularly smart anyway.

A sound somewhere to his left snapped him out of his thoughts, and it took him a few seconds to see the dead freaks making their way through the trees in the dimming light. He readied his crossbow to take them out when behind the two he had spotted first, another three suddenly appeared. He took a step back. A hissing growl to his right sounded and he turned, bow up and ready to fire. Four more were stepping around some bushes.  
Fuck.  
He turned his gaze a little further in that direction and was just able to make out a few more of them. Then another three from the other side. How many was that? Where they coming from other directions too? He stepped back some more. They hadn't seen him, not yet, but they were coming in his direction. Or rather, the direction of the camp.  
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He had to warn them!

Daryl ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: This is soooo out of character!
> 
> Me: Haven't we had this discussion already?
> 
> Canon: Your Daryl is being too nice. 
> 
> Me: As I have stated before, my Daryl is "nicer", because he hasn't been treated like barely tolerated white trash by the other campers in this one. Daryl is a good guy, and he is very capable of acting accordingly, anyone who has watched especially the later seasons of, well, you, knows that. But in the beginning, he was an angry vanilla muffin (*total inside joke, the person reading this will know who they are XD ). And he is still angry here, but he is neither stupid nor blind. He had every reason to believe that Merle was fine and was going to get back to camp on his own. So all that grief that finding his brother's cut off hand on the roof brought him in the series, isn't present here. Aside from Shane, no one has acted openly hostile towards him here. So far he has gotten support and semi-friendly interaction from the other camp members, so he himself acts more calmly, and yes, nicer. 
> 
> Canon: It's not just Daryl who is out of character. What about Carl, huh? Him speaking out on Daryl's behalf against Shane does not go according to what happened in my version of events. There, Carl was one of the people who didn't want the group to go back for Merle!
> 
> Me: Wrong. Carl didn't want his *dad* to go back into Atlanta. And that was understandable. Carl had just been reunited with the father he had thought was dead the day before. He was scared that he would lose him again. That is a completely different argument than him telling his honorary uncle that it wasn't okay to make someone leave his family to die.
> 
> Canon: What about the other people here, huh? Jacqui for example, you completely turned her around!
> 
> Me: How? How did I write a character people know practically nothing about, as out of character? She was barely developed in the series, and almost nothing is known about her backstory. But it's not like she was important to you, right? She was just there to be killed off. Well, it's your loss. Far as I'm concerned, you have provided me with a character I can build up and develop freely. 
> 
> Canon: ... I hate you.
> 
> Me: I CAN'T HEAR YOU I'M TAKING A PISS!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter:  
> There will be two characters openly talking about having raped a woman, and planning to rape a teenager. The scene itself is not descriptive, but it still shows a very dark side of humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: Been sleeping on the research, huh?
> 
> Me: What are you talking about?
> 
> Canon: You called it a 'virus', but are planning to treat Merle's bite with 'antibiotics'. But antibiotics are used to fight 'bacteria'! You are not being very realistic.
> 
> Me: Really? You are lecturing me about realism? Mr.-I-make-a-guy-fresh-out-of-a-coma-ride-a-bicycle-Canon. Really? You really wanna argue with me about realism, Mr.-I-made-Rick-Grimes-survive-an-unassisted-coma-for-three-months-Canon?
> 
> Canon: Well, I didn't see you fix that one in your story, so you can hardly hold that against me. And it's not like people are looking for medical or scientific accuracy in a medium designed to be entertaining. My viewers want cool action scenes and badass characters and drama, drama, drama, baby!
> 
> Me: Then why the hell are you riding my ass about this?
> 
> Canon: Just giving you a taste of what you always do to me!
> 
> Me: ... Fair. Fine! I'll fix it!

The bottom line was, that even though they had drawn many sensible conclusions about the walkers and the infection itself, non of them were doctors or scientists, and they were still lacking a lot of information. Most crucially, if the infection was indeed a virus, or a bacterial disease. And, in Merle's words, _"A god damn antibiotic is gonna do shit all for me if this stuff is a fucking virus!"_. Rick had tried to not let his surprise show too much when the loudmouthed, racist man had then made a list of different drugs that might be helpful.  
 _"These there are some broad-spectrum antibiotics, and those there are some common antiviral drugs. Also a few other things that cover a range of shit that might be needed. If one of those don't show any signs of helping, we try another. Not too smart mixing this shit, but what fucking choice do I have?"_  
Though evidently, neither Rick nor Morgan had been very successful in masking their facial expressions, as the older man had given them a very wry smile after explaining about the meds.  
 _"What, didn't think a dumb hick like me would know anything about shit like this? Eh, can't really blame ya. Sure as hell didn't learn any of this at school. Went over this stuff during training. You just never know when you are in some butt fuck third world nation and catch something nasty. Can't lug a medic around for every damn mission, so's you gotta be able to help yourself."_

The first aid supplies that Rick and Morgan had gotten out of the car were sadly lacking in almost any of the medications that Merle had listed, only boasting one of the broad-spectrum antibiotics. They had cleaned and bandaged the bite wound on the older man's arm and administered the antibiotic they had on hand. But with the minutes of the day ticking away, and fearing any advantage that daylight provided them soon lost, Rick had decided to make a run to the nearest pharmacy and get any additional meds Merle might need to help him fight the effect of the walker bite.

_"Are you sure this is smart, going alone? Who knows how many walkers are in the streets."_   
_Rick had understood Morgan's worry, hell, he himself would feel better if he had some backup on his run to the pharmacy, but he shook his head with determination._   
_"We have no choice. I'm hoping to god that the bite isn't lethal and that it can be treated. But Merle is already showing signs of a slight fever and his breathing is starting to sound a little harder than it should. This could go bad fast, and if it does, we can't leave Duane alone with him."_

Morgan had understood, of course, what Rick was saying. If the infection turned out to be lethal and fast-acting, Merle would turn into a walker upon his death. And Morgan couldn't risk leaving his son in this kind of danger. So Rick had taken a backpack, clipped Merle's knife onto his belt, holstered his revolver _("Just in case of an emergency, Officer Friendly, you hear me? Don't you go gallivanting around there making unnecessary noise. Name of the game is still stealth.")_ and ran out of the house.

It had gone pretty smoothly, actually. Rick had only had to take out four walkers on his way, three that had spotted him, and one that had been in his direct path. While he would have preferred to be able to take them out from a safe distance, he couldn't deny the obvious advantage of the long hunting knife. He was getting pretty good at handling it as well if he did say so himself.   
The pharmacy wasn't far from the house and, miraculously, still pretty well stocked. One of the front windows had been smashed in, and it was apparent that people had helped themselves to a lot of the things located in the front of the shop, but the back rooms were still brimming with many useful medications. People had probably been in a panic, trying to get as much as possible while evacuating. No one had wanted to linger and look deeper than what was openly and readily available to be looted. It suited the former deputy just fine, in this case, because all the things that Merle had written down for him were still nestled safely in the back rooms of the pharmacy. Not knowing how much of which medication would be needed, or how many more bite wounds might be amassed and in need of treatment in the future, Rick shoved as many of them into the backpack as it could hold. 

He was getting ready to leave, his pack stuffed to the brim with useful meds, when he heard glass crunching under shoes, unmistakable evidence of someone having stepped into the store's front through the busted window. There were really only two possibilities for the sound's origin, either something had happened with Merle and Morgan had packed up Duane and come to get Rick, or some fellow survivors were looking for either shelter or medicine. _(He ruled out walkers, as their slurping gate and uncoordinated movements were easily discernible.)_ Rick was just about to step out of the back room and into the front when the voices of two men drifted over to him.

"-still think we should have kept the little bitch alive for a bit longer. It's not going to be easy to find a new piece of ass around here."

"Shut up about it already, Fred. I swear we been over this way too many times, now. Woman was too much trouble. All that screaming and crying all the damn time. Was attracting the fucking biters left and right!"

It took an endless second for those words to register in Rick's mind. Their meaning seeming too cruel to be real. Something cold manifested in his stomach as soon as they did, though. Without conscious thought, his hand drifted to his gun.

"I didn't hear you complaining when you were railing her. In fact, I think you said 'her crying face was a damn turn on'. We could have just gagged her or some shit."

The cold thing grew and twisted inside of Rick as he continued to listen, slowly inching his way toward the ajar door that led into the front of the shop.

"Still would have had to drag her ass around. Woulda been a damn pain. Look, just stop complaining about it, okay? We will find us a new bitch soon enough. Maybe look for someone a bit younger, who can still be trained, instead of the last one. A nice pair of tits does not make up for all that attitude. Maybe a sweet little 16 year old."

An icy fog was clouding his mind, even though Rick was completely aware of everything around him, as he crouched right beside the door, and his fingers tightened around his phyton.

"Teenagers, huh? So that's what floats your boat. Ah, you might have a point, Billy. Probably still tight little virgins at that age. Bound to be easier to control, too. Damn, I'm gonna be hard as a rock if we keep talking about this for much longer. Just let's get the shit we came here for and then start looking for a hole to fuck."

Another voice sounded in Rick's mind, words he had overheard just a few hours before. _  
  
"Your finger is only ever on the trigger when you intend to pull it."_

Rick's finger was on the trigger.

* * *

Duane had put up a token protest when Morgan had told his son to try and sleep some but was out like a light almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was no wonder, really, thinking of the emotional upheaval this day had bombarded the boy with. Morgan just hoped that he would be able to help his son through any possible trauma this whole situation had brought with it.

He tucked the blanket more securely under Duane's shoulder and stroked softly over his hair, before grabbing another water from his pack and ascending the stairs to one of the bedrooms on the upper floor. Merle's condition hadn't exactly worsened since Rick took off for the drugs, but the three adults had agreed that, should things go south, putting some distance between Merle and the very vulnerable kid in their midst was the smart thing to do.

He wasn't surprised to find the older man sitting upright in the bed, instead of lying down. Everything he had learned about Merle Dixon so far was pretty contradictory in itself _(being an ex-marine and yet badmouthing the government and the armed forces at every turn, being a racist and yet teaching the black kid gun safety and saving Morgan's life)_ , one thing had made itself abundantly clear about the man.  
He was stubborn as all hell.

"You know, no one will think any less of you if you rest up a bit."

Merle, just as Morgan had expected, scoffed derisively.

"Ain't no pansy needing to lay down just cause I'm sweating a bit. If y'all think this damn thing can be beaten, then I won't be doing it laying down like some weakling."

"Allowing your body to conserve its strength is not weakness. But I won't waste my breath trying to make you see reason. Here." He held out the water bottle to the older man, which was taken with the slightest nod of gratitude.

Merle didn't look too bad yet. His face had lost some color, and he had started to sweat, but his eyes were still clear and he appeared neither hazy nor dizzy in any way. Morgan waited until the man had taken a long drink from the bottle before he finally asked the question that had been nagging at him since the other man had saved his life.

"Why?"

Merle pinned him with a look, and Morgan knew that he knew exactly what Morgan was referring to. But it seemed Merle didn't want to make this easy.

"Why what? Why has the world gone to shit? Why was I blessed with such good looks? Why the hell does tofu exist?"

"Why did save me?"

The sarcastic grin vanished from the other man's mouth, a frown replacing it, but when Merle didn't answer, Morgan pressed on.

"Rick believes that the bite can be treated, that it can be survived, and so do I. But you don't. Or, at least, you didn't. Not before. Not when you thrust your arm between the walker's teeth and my neck. You might have held back on calling me a nigger before, but that doesn't change the fact that you are a racist any more than it changes my skin color. So why did you? Why do something that you believed would have fatal consequences for you, for someone you not only don't know, but also hate on principle alone?"

Merle's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he looked very much like a dangerous predator, ready to strike at the slightest sign of either fear or aggression from his prey. Surprisingly, Morgan didn't feel like prey. He held the older man's gaze with steely resolution. Seconds went by in silence until suddenly, Merle smirked.

"You got some balls, Jones. Most men would just be happy with being alive, instead of sticking their nose where it might not be welcome."

It sounded like a threat. It was probably meant to be one. But, again, Morgan didn't feel that he was in danger at this moment. This was a challenge. And Morgan was determined to meet it head on.

"I'm not most men."

Merle laughed short and loud.

"Hah! Figures I would end up with some ballsy fuckers at the end of the world. First Officer Friendly, now you. Who knows, at this rate, we might even survive this shitfest of an apocalypse!"

Patiently waiting for Merle to tone down his amusement and answer his question, Morgan kept both his gaze and stance steady. He was the father of a ten year old boy. He knew all about stalling techniques. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, as Merle sobered quickly and fixed his eyes to a point somewhere above Morgan's shoulder.

"You know, if this had gone down a few years earlier, and that had been my baby brother in place of your boy, unable to shoot his mother's corpse, our pa would have done one of two things. Either shot her himself and then called my brother a little sissy crybaby and beaten the pansy out of him, or stood by and watched as she ate him."

The words horrified Morgan to his core, and the matter of fact way in which they were spoken made him sick. Maybe that was why Merle wasn't looking at him directly as he said them. Merle didn't seem the type to easily accept sympathy.

"Officer Friendly almost broke down when he thought his boy was dead there for a second on that roof in Atlanta, and apart from this little detour to collect your asses, has been dead set on finding him. Then your son almost dies because he took a stupid risk, and you console him and apologize to him for not having done enough... World ain't never had an abundance of good fathers, far as I have seen. I figured there are prolly even less now, so I shouldn't let one die when I could prevent it."

He shrugged, as if those words didn't mean nearly half as much as they did, and took another long drink from the bottle. Morgan felt himself at a loss for what to say, something the other man seemed to pick up on.

"Now don't you go getting your panties in a twist about this. This don't mean that I like you."

Merle Dixon was a racist asshole with a foul mouth and a temper that was barely kept in check. He was loud and crass and didn't believe in censoring himself _(much)_ even in the company of a child. And as Morgan turned to exit the room and leave him to his rest, he finally found the right words to say.

"You are a good man, Merle."

* * *

It was hours later when Morgan and Rick sat down on the kitchen table, both nursing a drink. Duane was still deeply asleep on the couch in the living room, and Merle had finally given in to his body's demand for rest and laid down.

"Do you think the second set of drugs will help?"

Not feeling any kind of improvement after taking the dose of antibiotics, Merle had decided to try one of the antiviral drugs. While they worried that mixing the different drugs might lead to a bad reaction, they couldn't risk waiting too long to try something different. Merle had gotten worse fast, _(his temperature had risen rapidly and his words had begun to slur)_ and if things progressed this way much further, there might not be anything left for them to do.

Rick stared at his almost full glass as if it had the answer to Morgan's question.

"I hope so. Like Merle said, if it's a virus, the antibiotics wouldn't have worked, no matter how long we waited for them to. The other stuff, that should have a good shot at helping, right?"

He looked up from his glass and to Morgan, who nodded, shrugged, then nodded again. Then he sighed as well.

"I hope so. We will check up on him about every half hour. This way we shouldn't disturb his sleep too much but should be able to spot if things get worse, and he needs more medicine."

There was silence between the two men, both lost in their thoughts. They were tired, exhausted, really. But they couldn't bear the thought of sleeping. Too much had happened on this day. Too much was still at stake.

Then Morgan pinned his friend with a look.

"What about you? As much as I know you are worried about Merle, you seem... distracted? No. That's not the right word. Different, somehow. Did something happen on your drug run?"

Rick felt almost caught out by Morgan's words.

"Bad different?"

The question was cautious, unsure. But the black man shook his head.

"Not bad. Just, I don't know. Both settled and unsettled in a way. Like you lost something, but found something else as well... Does that make sense?"

Rick looked thoughtful for a moment, contemplating, then he nodded.

"You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be Spider-Man."

The admission came so completely out of the blue, that it made Morgan laugh softly.

"Really, Spider-Man? Not Captain America or Iron Patriot?"

Smiling, Rick shook his head.

"They were cool, too, but Spidey? I thought he was the best. 'With great power, comes great responsibility'. Looking out for the little guy, believing in the good in people, never giving up. Even when things kept beating him down, he always got back up and kept going. That was all I wanted. To be that kind of hero, to grow into that kind of man. Protecting those that can't protect themselves. And I don't care that there were others who were stronger or had more flashy kinds of powers, Spidey's skill set was the best."

Morgan grinned.

"You must have been pretty disappointed when you learned that superpowers weren't real."

Rick nodded solemnly.

"Devastated. But my 13 year old self decided not to let that little detail drag me down. Peter Parker had lost his powers a few times and had still fought the good fight. And so I swore to myself right there and then, that I would become a cop and help and protect the innocents that way. Though I was still hoping that one day a radioactive spider would bite me and turn me into a superhuman."

He laughed slightly, a bit bashful of his younger self. Morgan smiled at him.

"And you stayed true to your word. You became a deputy. Your 13 year old self would be proud of you."

At that, Rick's smile turned rueful.

"I'm not so sure about that."

The sudden turn in mood had Morgan at full attention.

"Why is that?"

Rick didn't answer right away, seemingly contemplating what to say. Morgan didn't press and waited patiently. Finally, the other man took a deep breath.

"When I became an officer of the law, it was with the understanding that the law cannot be taken into our own hands. We were instructed in hand to hand combat to incapacitate a criminal. We got weapons training for the same reason. Shoot to kill was always a last resort _only_. There was due process, and lawyers and judges and juries. There was a system, a structure. And it wasn't perfect and it didn't always work, but I believed in it. At least, for the most part. There had been days when all those rules and regulations felt like shackles. Like they were in the way of doing the right thing. When criminals got out due to a technicality, only to commit the same atrocities again. When lawyers used the law to get the scumbag they were representing free. When I knew, just _knew_ , that the drunkard two streets down was beating his wife silly, but couldn't do anything because she refused to come forward."

His grip tightened around his glass, old anger and frustration surfacing back up again. How often had he wished that he could do more? Protect the innocents just like the heroes in the comic books, even if the methods didn't go according to the law. How often had he wished that he could punish the criminals himself, instill in them the fear of god, make them regret what they had done, make them terrified of even the thought of ever doing it again.  
And how often had those wishes been distinguished like a flickering flame by the winds of reality?

"When I was in that pharmacy, two men came in. I was in the back, they didn't know I was there, and they..." It was difficult to suppress the rage he was still feeling at the things he had heard. "- they were talking about how they had repeatedly raped and then killed a woman. About how they would need to find 'another hole to fuck' soon. How they should be looking for someone younger, this time around. Someone they would be able to 'train'. A teenager, preferably."

Morgan felt a sick sense of deja vu, as this was the second time today that one of his companions revealed something horrifyingly revolting to him.

"And it's not like I didn't have options. They hadn't seen me, and I could have just gotten out through the exit in the back. I could have rounded on them, taken their weapons. I could have even trapped them in the back rooms, maybe. But non of those even occurred to me then. Instead, I snuck up to the door to the front and then shot them right in the head. One after the other. Just like that. No Miranda rights, no second chances. I just killed them where they stood, hoping the shots would draw the walkers on the street, and that they would devour their bodies. And I don't regret it."

Morgan let the words sink in, analyzing them for what they meant in general, and for Rick in particular.

"And you fear that you may have broken the oath you took, by taking the law into your own hands like this?"

Rick nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged.

"I know I couldn't have arrested them like before. Couldn't have thrown them into a cell, and dragged them before a judge. And it's not the first time I had to take a life in the line of duty. But back then, when I shot that person, it got to me. I worried if I had made the right call, I second-guessed everything I did that led up to it, and I had to do a mandatory psych eval after. And now here I am, having just killed two people, and I feel non of what I did before. No second-guessing, no worrying about my choices. No regrets."

"And what is it that you _do_ feel?"

Rick swallowed.

"Something I shouldn't."

 _Settled, yet unsettled. Something lost, but something gained.  
_  
Morgan understood.

"Satisfied?"

The grip on his glass tightened again as Rick averted his eyes, head down, unsure _(ashamed?)_ as he gave one curt nod.

Morgan licked his lips, choosing his words carefully in this delicate situation they were in. Seconds later, he found himself repeating the same words he had spoken to the man currently sleeping upstairs.

"You are a good man, Rick."

Rick's eyes reflected a doubtful kind of hope, old beliefs and convictions obviously at battle with the new reality and the choices it brought for them.

"Am I? I never even considered an alternative for how to deal with these men. I don't feel an ounce of regret for killing them. I feel.. accomplished. As if killing them hadn't simply been my _only_ choice, but the best one. The _right_ one."

"Then maybe it was. You said it yourself. It's not like you could have arrested them. Couldn't have convicted them and locked them up in some prison."

"I could have just left."

"And let them roam freely, giving them the chance to possibly find another victim, subject someone else to their torment? No. You could have never done that. That's not the kind of man you are."

"What kind of man am I, then? Someone who decides who gets to live or die? Someone who doesn't think twice about pulling the trigger?"

The former deputy's struggle was clear to see, and Morgan knew he needed to keep his friend from drowning in it.

"Someone who protects. You came back here for me and my son to make sure we wouldn't walk into a death trap in Atlanta. You risked your life by going to that pharmacy for the drugs that will hopefully give Merle a fighting chance. You shot two men who would have done horrible things to the first vulnerable person they came across. Sometimes protecting other means eliminating the threats in their way. And that's exactly what those two men were."

He held the eyes of the man sitting across from him, making sure to keep his voice firm, so that there was no place for even a shred of doubt about his next words.

"You are a good man, Rick Grimes."

* * *

* * *

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: There. You happy? Fixed the antibiotics vs virus thing.
> 
> Canon:...If that is what you call "fixing" something, I'm no longer surprised about the grades you got in school.
> 
> Me: When did you look at my grades? And that was like eons ago! I'm a fully functional adult with a job and everything. My possible lack of educational prowess doesn't matter anymore!
> 
> Canon: Keep telling yourself that. Also, as far as "functional" adults are concerned-
> 
> Me: I liked you better when you were bitching about how much I was ruining your storyline and characters!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWD Wiki says Amy was 24 years old and a college student (pre-apocalypse). I need to age her down a *little* bit, so that she just started college and is about 18 years old.  
> Also, look, I'm not a native of Georgia and I have no idea about geography and I'm too stupid to read maps and I just didn't want to spend hours searching for an existing location for where the group is heading at the end of the chapter. So I made up the name of a city/town. If this place happens to exist in real life, that is completely coincidental and should not be taken at all seriously. Good? Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hi everyone!
> 
> Canon: Oh god, it's you! I was hoping you had given up on this story. Well, no matter! I have come prepared today. *folding out a list titled: Why this is the worst fanfiction ever and people should go back to watching the series*
> 
> Me: Yeah, no, we are not doing this today. I want to address something far more important.
> 
> Canon: Excuse you! What could be more important than you ruining my beautiful plot?!
> 
> Me: Well, you might have noticed that we are having a bit of a pandemic right now.
> 
> Canon: Duh. Why do you think it took so long for my last episode to air?
> 
> Me: And because of this, lockdowns and quarantines and all that, some people are having a tough time right now. Add to that the approaching holiday season, which might come with an extra helping of seasonal depression, and you are left with people suffering from mental, physical, and/or emotional strain.
> 
> Canon: ... Well, that's not good. 
> 
> Me: No. It's not. So I want to try and find some encouraging words for at least the few people I might be able to reach this way. 
> 
> Canon: Okay. I can accept that. Go on then. I will let you know when you fuck it up.
> 
> Me: ... You are so good to me. Okay. How to start. I know things suck right now. Covid-19 has run amok among pretty much all around and made a lot of things really hard. Some of you might have even lost someone to the virus. Many people lack adequate care as well as information and knowledge, discord is everywhere and tempers are running high and brewing conflict. You might feel overwhelmed. You might feel angry, or sad, or scared, or helpless. And I need you to know that that's okay. This kind of situation is new to most of us, we don't know how to handle things like this because we never had to. People fear what they don't understand, and they hate what they fear. This together with the necessary preventative measures like lockdowns and quarantines, leave many people feeling isolated. 
> 
> Canon: You planning on putting anything uplifting here any time soon? Because you are depressing *me* right now.
> 
> Me: You are oh so helpful, you know that? Look, what I'm trying to say, rather poorly it seems, is that your feelings are valid. It's okay to feel angry, or sad, or scared, or tired, or overwhelmed, or a combination of that or all of that or even something completely different. Know that it's okay to not be okay. But know also, that you are not alone. There are people in your life, right now as well as in the future, who love you and care about you. If you feel like the weight of it all is becoming too much, don't hesitate to ask for help. There is no shame in admitting that you can't do it all on your own and that you are struggling right now. You’ve got to treat yourself fairly, both physically and mentally. Sometimes that means to take a break. And sometimes that means seeking support. Remember that you are a wonderful individual and that your life and happiness are important, even if it doesn't always feel like that. 
> 
> Canon: It's okay to do things you enjoy. Even if those things include *shudder* writing fanfiction that makes a mockery of the original plot.
> 
> Me: It's okay to watch trash tv just for the sake of watching trash tv.
> 
> Canon: It's okay to go back to that story you have read forty times already, but if it still manages to make you smile, who the hell cares.
> 
> Me: It's okay to fantasize about all the possible plots for fanfictions that come to your mind, even when you never end up writing them down. 
> 
> Canon: It's okay to fail at things, because sometimes the only ways to test and push your boundaries, is to find out where your limits lie. And it’s often only through defeat, that you can learn from your mistakes. Don't be afraid to try something new and not getting it right on the very first try. As long as it's something you want to do, keep going.
> 
> Me: It's okay to take time for yourself and treat yourself to something nice.
> 
> Canon: It's okay to just lie down on your couch and take a nap in the middle of the day. 
> 
> Me: ... You were surprisingly undouchey and supportive there. I appreciate it.
> 
> Canon: Well, it is important that my viewers, and I guess your readers, know that we care about their well being. 
> 
> Me: You still suck, though.
> 
> Canon: Ditto.

There was blood on Daryl's fingers. It was a bizarre thing to notice, considering that there was blood absolutely everywhere on the campgrounds, as well as on most of the surviving campers.  
  


~

_Daryl had run fast._   
_Just fast enough to shout a warning at the camp at large that the undead were closing in. Just fast enough for the men to scramble for their weapons and the women to herd the kids into the RV. Just fast enough to fire a bolt into the eyesocket of the first freak to step out of the woodwork and onto the campgrounds._

_Not fast enough to save everyone._

~ _  
_

It wasn't as if this was the first time blood had ever stained his hands red. Though to be fair, usually it was his own.  
  


~

_The skinny guy that had been helping Dale with his RV had been dragged into the bushes by two of the undead before anyone could even hear him scream. While Daryl had aimed his crossbow at a dead one getting too close to T-Dog's unprotected back, one of the women he didn't know got buried under three of the freaks, as she had tried to get to her tent. Screams, of the frightened and dying alike, sounded out along the snarls and groans of the dead ones. Glenn had been cut off from his tent, where his crowbar rested, by a stumbling group of about four undead. Shane and Dale had both shot one each, another fell to one of Daryl's arrows as Glenn kept retreating from the last one reaching for him. Shane and Dale had needed to direct their focus onto threats actively heading for them, and Daryl had been at the wrong angle to get the freak in the head. He cursed and reached for the handgun stuck in the back of his jeans._

_"Heads up, Korea!"_

_He tossed his gun towards Glenn, who caught it, fumbled for just a second with it, and then aimed it at the freak still approaching him. It took three shots for him to plant a bullet into the thing's brain._

~ _  
_

Maybe it was the way his hand was ever so slightly shaking as he brought a cigarette to his lips. Not a lot. Not noticeable to anyone else. But the tremor was there non the less.

~

_In his periphery, Daryl saw Jacqui burying the knife he had given her into the head of one freak that had been about to take out a bite of Andrea. The blond woman was looking around wildly, searching for something, not budging as Jacqui tried to get her to the safety of the RV where the other unarmed people were._

_"Amy! Amy, where are you?!"_

_The biggest disadvantage of his dearly beloved crossbow was the time it took to reload. And fresh out of his gun, Daryl was left with only one choice when the shrill, terrified scream of Andrea's sister sounded somewhere to his left._

~ _  
_

Daryl didn't know why his hand was shaking. The sight of blood wasn't new to him, and neither was the feeling of it on his skin. It took him three tries to light his cigarette.

  
~

_Unclasping his backup knife from its sheath as he spun around, Daryl was just in time to throw his knife at the dead one whose teeth were descending on Amy's arm. The knife's blade found its home in the dead one's brain easily, and the teenager quickly freed her arm from its slackening hold and backed away._

_"Amy!"_

_Andrea clutched her sister to her desperately, breathing hard and heavy, trembling just as much as Amy herself did. She had almost lost her. Oh god! She had almost lost her sister!_

_"What the hell you waiting for?! Get to the damn RV!"_

_Daryl's angry shout shook both sisters out of their shock. Keeping a steadying arm around her sister, Andrea steered them both towards the RV, where Dale had taken up guard in front of the door and anxiously waited for them. Jacqui, knife clutched firmly in her hand, led their way._

_~  
_

He inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs as he looked around him, gaze sweeping over every corpse littering the ground. He had killed the dead ones before. This wasn't anything new. He had been scared, he could admit that even if only to himself, but even that feeling hadn't been anything he hadn't experienced before. Blood and fear and death. Daryl knew all of these things, had known them long before the dead started to rise and eat the living. This shouldn't be affecting him.

  
~

  
_Gradually all those armed and capable of fighting started forming a ring around the RV, protecting the ones inside. And Daryl soon found himself standing in between Glenn and T-Dog, Shane on Glenn's other side, and Dale and Morales on T-Dog's. He kept Jacqui behind himself. Should one of the freaks get him, she was the last thing standing between the dead and the ones inside._

_They fought for what felt like hours, and even when the last of the dead finally fell to Shane's bullet, no one felt safe enough to sleep._

~  
  


His hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips again.  
This shouldn't be affecting him. He willed his hand to stop shaking. This _wasn't_ affecting him.  
Merle sill wasn't back.  
Daryl wasn't worried. He was _not_.

"- while Miranda and Carol are keeping the children inside the RV for now."

Morales' voice shook Daryl out of the weird headspace he had been caught in. He scolded himself mentally. This was no time for him to get lost in useless reflection. The adults, minus Carol and Mrs. Morales, were gathered in a circle, discussing their next moves. Keeping the children occupied and out of the way was a good move, but Daryl had had to bite his lips against a derisive comment when the others had mentioned shielding them as much as possible from the horrible sight of the campgrounds. These people were too soft. Coddling their brats wasn't going to help anyone in the long run, least of all the kids. But the night had been long and filled with death and blood and gore, and Daryl was frankly too tired to have a bunch of idealistic city slickers go off on him when he told them that to their faces. So he had kept his silence on the matter.

"We need to, to ... we need to take care of... this." Glenn looked around helplessly as he gestured vaguely at their surroundings. His normally fair complexion had paled further, and unlike Daryl, the shaking in both the young Asian's body and voice was apparent to everyone. "We have to take care of the geeks, and bury... and bury our people."

It was so obvious that the kid _(seriously, how old was Glenn anyway)_ had never experienced anything even remotely close to the massacre they all lived through the night before. A quick look around confirmed that the other people standing with them were in a similar state. Andrea was pale and fidgeting, her head turning every few minutes to the RV where her sister was together with the other children. Lori was the same. T-Dog was noticeably shaken, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Dale was trembling, his rifle not having left his side for the last several hours. Jacqui had tears in her eyes, that she resolutely kept blinking away. Morales was seemingly jittery with nerves. The stench of the rotting corpses was getting to everyone and all were scared.  
The only one not as obviously affected as the others _(aside from Daryl)_ , was Walsh. But the former deputy was rubbing his head and neck in a fashion that Daryl guessed meant he was trying to decide on a course of action.

Daryl rolled his eyes. They didn't have time for pussyfooting around.

"Gonna have to make a shallow pit by those tents back there. Ground is dry, and it's far enough away from the trees. Then we pile on the dead ones there and set 'em aflame. We're gonna have to haul ass right after, though. Fire is gonna be big and will likely draw more of 'em."

He saw Glenn nod out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes, yes, we need to,.. we can't stay here. So, we grab some shovels and bury our people first and then pile up the geeks and-"

"No." Daryl cut him off. "We burn all of them."

Glenn was shaking his head almost violently.

"No. No. We burn the geeks, but we bury our people!" His eyes were wide, his hands gesticulating widely.

"Korea-"

"We need to lay them to rest! We can't just-" The tremble was back in his voice, stronger than it had been before.

"Kid-"

"Our people should be buried! We have to-" His eyes were shining with tears, his breathing erratic. Glenn was spiraling.

"Glenn!"

The force of the shout stopped the Korean right as he was taking another breath to continue his argument. Daryl's look was fierce and unyielding as he directed his full attention at the younger man.

"Less emotional breakdown and more god damn thinking! We lost half the camp last night. If you wanna bury all these people we are gonna have to shovel almost a dozen graves! If we bury them too deep, there's a risk of the corpses contaminating the earth as well as nearby water and underground streams. If we don't dig deep enough, wild animals that feed on carrion will dig them back up and who the fuck knows what kind of diseases that will spread. We can't cut down a few trees and fashion some fucking coffins from them to prevent that! Digging to the right depths for this many graves would take us hours. We been fighting the freaks for half the night, and then spent the other half driving pickaxes into the heads of the dead that were about to rise back up. No one slept. Ain't no one got the energy for this shit! And ain't like anyone's gonna come back here to weep at the graves."

Glenn looked utterly shell shocked, and the tiniest bit of guilt formed in Daryl's stomach, but he squashed it down right away. It wasn't like he enjoyed being so harsh with the younger man, but soft touches and kind words weren't going to get anything done. Life was tough, and the sooner these people learned that, the better their chances to survive.

"As much as I hate to say this," Shane started, rubbing the back of his head again, "I agree with Daryl. We need to try to get rid of the dead bodies whenever we have a chance. But we can't spare the time or the manpower it would take to give these people proper burials. I'm sorry, Glenn."

The young Korean shook his head, still seemingly a bit shocked, but pulling himself together with every breath.

"No. No, I get it. Daryl's right. I'm,... I shouldn't have yelled. Sorry."

The last was directed at the aforementioned hunter, who looked taken aback. He wasn't used to people apologizing to him. And Glenn did look genuinely sorry about it, too. Which threw Daryl even more. What was there to be sorry about? Not having enough experience with wildlife survival and therefore a different _(wrong)_ opinion? Being emotional and yelling? Hell. Seventy percent of Daryl and Merle's communication consisted of arguing and shouting at each other, so Daryl certainly wasn't going to get bent out of shape from Glenn yelling a bit.

Stupid, fucking, emotional, decent people.

Daryl didn't know how to accept an apology, especially one that he didn't feel was needed, so he just shrugged. Thankfully, the gesture seemed to be enough for Glenn, who nodded back at him.

Shane took a deep breath, seemingly settling on a course of action.

"Okay, so this is what we do. T, Glenn, Daryl, Morales, and I will prepare the fire site and drag the bodies over. Dale, if you could get up on the RV and keep an eye on our surroundings. We don't want any more surprises. Lori, Andrea, and Jacqui will take Carol, Miranda, Amy, and the kids and break down camp and pack the supplies."

Andrea scoffed.

"What, because we are women and can't do the 'manly' stuff?"

Surprisingly, it was Daryl who answered her.

"No, because you don't have the upper body strength to be digging a pit and dragging dead weight around. Especially Olive Oyl over there."  
Lori took a short moment to decide whether or not to feel insulted by the nickname, and then let it slide. A quick squeeze to Shane's wrist beside her kept the man from jumping at the Dixon to try and defend her honor. Oblivious _(or willfully ignorant)_ of this, Daryl went on.  
"In fact, take noodle arms here" he nodded his head to Glenn "with you, and let him help organize the supplies."

Glenn looked like a fish out of water for all of two seconds, before he flexed one of his arms and eyed his biceps.

"I don't have noodle arms! ... Do I?" He directed his question at T-Dog, who gave him a small smile and a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Since Daryl's brusque, but apparently helpful comment had placated Andrea, Shane brought everyone back on track.

"Take a look at all the vehicles we have left, too. See which ones have the fullest tanks and most storage space, because we can't just stuff everything in the RV. We need to take as many supplies as possible. Also, everyone needs to think about viable options for us to go from here. Last night proved that we need better shelter. Tell Carol and Miranda, too. We will decide on a destination after we are done with everything, and then light the fire."

On that note, the group dispersed to do their individual tasks. Digging the fire pit didn't take too long, as the earth was dry, but not particularly hard, and Daryl paired up with T-Dog to heave the bodies of both the former campers, as well as the undead freaks that killed them, over to it.

T-Dog, it seemed, was not a man who felt the need to fill the silence with incessant chattering. Daryl liked that. 

"Uhm, Mist- Mister Dixon?"

Daryl almost lost his grip on the body he and T-Dog were carrying between them, as the soft and tentative voice sounded from behind him. He turned his head to see Andrea's younger sister, Amy, nervously wringing her hands a few steps behind him. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't call me that, girl. Just Daryl is fine. What is it?"

He kept going backward, prompting T-Dog to firm his hold on the dead freak between them again. The black man had obviously thought Daryl would take a quick break to talk to the teen. _(Was she a teenager still, or was she older than that? Daryl had no fucking clue how to tell. Same with Glenn)_. But Daryl didn't plan on stopping or slowing down. Who knew how far the sound of last night's fight had carried. There might already be new dead freaks on their way to them, so they were already working against the clock. It would have probably been smarter to just break camp and fucking go, but leaving that many bodies to rot in the open was neither good for the wildlife nor for nature itself.

"Fine, if you don't call me 'girl'. My name is Amy."

Seemed the little sister had inherited some of her older sister's attitude. Daryl could respect that. It didn't keep him from rolling his eyes at her, however.

"What is it, _Amy_? I ain't got no time to chat."

Seeing that the men were not going to slow down for her, Amy walked alongside them, trying her best to keep her eyes away from the body they were carrying. Poor bastard had had his stomach ripped open at some point, and some of his remaining innards were hanging out.

"I wanted to thank you."

Daryl almost lost his grip again.

"What the hell for?"

Now it was Amy who rolled her eyes.

"For saving my life last night. If you hadn't thrown your knife when you did..."

They had reached the shallow pit at that point, and T-Dog and Daryl threw their cargo on top of the bodies already in there. Then Daryl finally turned to face Amy fully.

"Don't worry about it. Wasn't nothing."

The girl shook her head.

"It took away one of your weapons, and it could have left you in a very vulnerable position. That was a big risk to take. And I'm incredibly grateful for it. So, thank you."

The young blonde left right after that, and Daryl was glad for it because he sure as hell didn't know what to say to that. What was it with people saying 'thank you' and 'sorry' to him all the time? Fucking shit. He caught T-Dog giving him an analyzing look out of the corner of his eye.

"What?!"

It had probably come out harsher than he meant it to, but if T minded, he didn't comment on it.

"Just a few things I've noticed since yesterday. You know, you aren't half as much of a bastard as you want others to think you are."

The two started heading back to grab the next body. Daryl snorted.

"I ain't making anyone think anything of me."

But the black man just shook his head, smiling a little.

"You are a bit abrasive. And you can come across as uncaring. You keep to yourself and don't seem comfortable in social situations. You have an easily aggravated temper, which you don't even try to curb, in order to make yourself seem less appealing to anyone who might seek out your company. You make it very easy for people to jump to the worst conclusions about you."

Daryl was starting to get annoyed.

"You going anywhere with this, Dr. Freud?"

To his further annoyance, T-Dog's smile grew. What happened to the man from yesterday who had grown so god damn offended about his familial roots, that he argued with Daryl about it?

"You brought Carl back that hat that looks like his father's so that he would have a memento. You gave Jacqui your knife so that she had a way to defend herself. You ran back to warn us about the hoard of geeks headed our way. You tossed Glenn your gun when he couldn't get to his crowbar fast enough. And you endangered yourself by throwing your knife at the geek that almost took a bite out of Amy."

Daryl did not like where this was going. If T-Dog started thanking or apologizing to him as well, he would have to do something drastic. He mentally mapped out the fastest route to his truck in case he needed to make a run for it.

"This the part where I lay down somewhere and stuff money up your ass while you psychoanalyze the reason why I dream of bloodthirsty goats eating my face off?"

T-Dog just shrugged and kept smiling, as he bent down to grab the next body under the arms.

"Like I said, just some things I've been noticing."

Hoping the topic was closed with that possibly cryptic remark, Daryl wound his arms around the legs. Then T-Dog gave him a questioning look.

"... Goats, though? Seriously?"

He shrugged.

"They are vicious, creepy eyed beasts."

* * *

It took a little more than an hour for everything to be ready, and everyone, this time including Carol, Miranda, Amy, and the younger children, was back to standing in a circle.

"Alright," Shane started, "we have all had some time to think about where to go next. We will discuss our options and then vote for the best. I'll go first. I think we should head to Fort Benning. It supports more than 120,000 active-duty military, family members, reserve soldiers, retirees, and civilian employees on a daily basis. It's only about a hundred miles away from here, shouldn't take us more than a few hours. If anywhere is safe, it will be there."

While some of the group seemed to be considering his words, Daryl snorted.

"And why the hell do you think they would just take in a bunch of random people? Have you forgotten it was the military who bombed Atlanta? They are just as likely to shoot us on sight if we get too close to their base."

This had everyone visibly questioning their initial consideration of Benning, and just as Shane was going to argue his point, Carol piped up from where she was standing on the opposite side of the circle from Lori, her daughter pressed close to her.

"Ed wanted to head to Benning at first, too. But then we heard over the radio that hundreds of people had had the same idea, and were evacuating there instead of the refugee camps in Atlanta. He said the base would be overcrowded by the time we got there, so he turned our car around. It's why we weren't in Atlanta sooner and missed the bombs..."

The little girl whimpered a little, remembering the explosion they all had watched from the road. If Ed hadn't headed for Fort Benning first, the Peletiers would have been among the victims of the military's purge.

Dale spoke up next.

"What about the CDC? It's close, and it was initially suggested as an evacuation site before the military erected the refugee camps in the city. Surely it's still standing and well protected. They might have some information about this whole thing. They must be working on a cure as we speak."

Glenn was enthusiastically nodding along, happy to entertain the notion of hope. Daryl wanted to roll his eyes at this. Were these people not listening? Why the hell did he have to play devil's advocate all the time? Just as he was about to crush the kid's dreams once again, Jacqui surprisingly did it for him. _(Though granted, she probably did it a whole lot nicer than Daryl would have)_

"But we would be facing the same danger there as with Benning. If other people headed there, it will be overcrowded. And if the military has been stationed there to protect it, what is to say they wouldn't protect it from civilians seeking shelter as well? I'm with Daryl on this one, I don't think we can trust the military. Not after Atlanta."

Daryl could see Glenn and Dale both deflating, and beside Dale, the two Harrington sisters had wrapped their arms around each other. The group was starting to feel helpless.

"Miranda and I have family in Birmingham," Morales spoke up. "We have already spoken about it. We want to try to make our way there. You are all welcome to join us."

Daryl was shaking his head before the others could even consider the offer.

"Atlanta ain't the only city that got bombed to the ground. The military would have struck most major cities, Birmingham was probably among them. You would be walking into the same crap we have here."

Agitated at this, Shane rounded on the Dixon brother.

"And how would you know this?"

"I don't. But Merle has been in the marines long enough to know. There is protocols for shit like this. He knew that Atlanta was going down, just not how quickly. It's why we never went there in the first place."

Unwilling to give in, Shane crossed his arms over his chest, challenging.

"And we are supposed to believe the word of a drugged-out reject like your brother?"

Unusually calm, Daryl shrugged and didn't rise to the bait. _(He silently chalked his zen-like state up to being exhausted from all that had happened in the past couple of hours.)_

"I don't care what you believe and what not. I will be the last person on this fucked up earth to deny that my brother is an asshole. But he knows his shit. He was right about Atlanta. Why shouldn't other cities be hit as well?"

He didn't wait for the ex-cop to retort and turned to where Morales and his family were standing.

"It's a hundred and forty miles filled with the dead, to a city that probably won't be standing no more. Do you really want to take that risk?"

Morales and his wife shared a look with each other, then nodded.

"Birmingham is a lot smaller than Atlanta, they might have passed it over. Or our family made it out in time, just like we did. We have to at least try and find them."

Daryl would like nothing more than to poke holes into this statement, but he understood. He went into the geek infested city of Atlanta to get his brother, and he would have done it alone, too, if Glenn and T-Dog hadn't stepped up. Blood was important. Sometimes, blood was the only thing you had.

_Merle still hadn't appeared. But he was alive. Toughest son of a bitch, his brother. There was no way those freaks had done him in. Merle would catch up with him, Daryl knew it._

_He wasn't worried._

Lori laid a hand on Miranda's shoulder. "Are you sure? Daryl is right, it's a long way into an unknown situation."

Miranda's English wasn't as good as her husband's, but still easy enough to understand.

"Is my sister. And brother in law. They have three children. We must try."

Beside Lori, Shane nodded, looking at the family's patriarch.

"We will give you what we can spare of provisions, but I'm afraid we don't have many weapons. And we can't come with you. I'm sorry. It's too dangerous."

Morales nodded.

"I understand. Provisions would be great and don't worry about the weapons. I have my gun and still some ammo left. We will sort out our stuff to pack into our car. We will be fine."

Daryl doubted it, but there was nothing he could say to change the man's mind. Everyone watched for a few seconds as the family of four went to get their things together. Then Shane brought the group's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Look, I understand that you guys are worried, but I still think Fort Benning is our best shot."

This broke out smaller discussions among the group, some in favor, some against. It didn't look like a unanimous decision would be reached anytime, soon.

"Where would you go, Daryl?"

Lori's question stopped everyone's chatter abruptly, and Daryl found himself the very unwilling center of attention. Glenn in particular looked almost eager to hear his opinion on the matter, and to a lesser degree, so did Jacqui, T-Dog, and Andrea. It probably had to do with how he had bitched to them about the safety of the quarry the day before and with that, making them aware that he held some expertise in the field. That's what he got for sharing. Now people were looking to him for answers. He was not cut out for that shit.

Daryl actually did have a place in mind. Hopefully, if he explained things quickly and sufficiently enough, people would stop looking at him. Especially the kids with their big, trusting eyes.

"Few years ago, Merle got arrested for possession, intent to sell, and consumption of drugs."

He ignored Shane's muttered "Look at no one being surprised by that." and soldiered on.

"The judge on his case was a bit of a pushover, one of those people believing that there was good in everybody and shit. So instead of throwing him into the slammer, he gave him court-mandated rehab. They had a facility that specialized in detoxing criminals. That's where I would go."

Shane snorted. "A rehab center for criminal junkies? How is that supposed to be better than a military settlement?"

The others looked uneasy with the thought as well, causing Daryl to close his eyes and sigh in aggravation. It seemed like he would have to talk more. This day just kept getting worse.

"It's a secure building that's rounded by high brick walls and a tall metal gate. The doors to every entrance and room are sturdy as hell, and all the windows are barred. There's about 50 individual rooms for the patients, 'cause detoxing don't work well if people feel too crowded', or some shit. Few recreational areas inside and outside. Medical rooms, offices, stock rooms, bathrooms, a big cafeteria, and several smaller kitchens. Guardsrooms and mounts on the wall around. Merle described it like a fucking spa retreat that doubled as a prison. Ain't no one more desperate to escape from a place like this than an addict jonesing for the next fix, so the center's security needed to be fucking tight. But it's also a place of healing, so they tried to make shit comfortable and comforting. There is lots of greenery inside the walls, for physical activity like running, or playing team sports, and even a pool swimming. It's big, but not too big, which makes securing it easier. It's never been overly advertised, so not many people know about its existence, and it's in a bit of a backwoods location, which means it likely won't have been overrun by the dead or people seeking shelter."

Carl, his too-big hat tipped back so he could actually see what was in front of him, excitedly shook his mother's arm.

"Mom, that sounds great! We should go there!"

Daryl could see that most of the others seemed to be in agreement with Carl, actually looking hopeful. Carol's soft voice, again, came as a bit of a surprise when she spoke up.

"But wouldn't there still be criminals there right now?"

Her worry was valid, so Daryl didn't begrudge her too much for making him talk more.

"Place was shut down about six months ago. I was trying to get Merle to go there again, cause he actually managed to stay clean for a while after his first stint in the center. Center was dependant on donations from the state and rich folks. Apparently they lost a few of their sponsors and had to put things on ice. The lady who ran the joint, she was good people. Said she was gonna go on some kinda tour to attract new sponsors. Didn't work, far as I know, but the place wasn't torn down. They just locked everything up in the hopes of being able to get back to it later."

The words reassured Carol, who almost smiled as she hugged her daughter closer to her. The others looked agreeable as well. Which hopefully meant that Daryl could stop talking now. But of course, Shane had to destroy his hope right away.

"And where is this wonderous rehab center of yours? Sounds a bit too good to be true, if you ask me."

Daryl suppressed a smirk when he just caught Glenn's muttered "Dude, you are such a downer.", comment. Shane's question did make him grimace, though.

"It's a bit of a track. The center is about twenty miles away from Augburst."

"Where is that?" Amy looked at her older sister inquisitively. Andrea shrugged, but Dale beside them knew the answer.

"That's indeed 'a bit of a track', Daryl. That's almost 1000 miles from here."

Glenn's eyes widened quite a bit at that. "How long would that take us?"

"If we can keep up a speed of about 60mph, and provided we can head in as straight a line as possible without any breaks or detours, that would be around 14 hours."

So apparently Jacqui was good with math. Good to know. T-Dog piped up next.

"Which is very unlikely. We would be more in the ballpark of a day to two days travel. That's a long drive through unknown roads. We could easily run into another herd, or be stopped by clogged up streets."

"Which makes Benning the safer bet. Just as I said." Shane looked pretty smug when he pointed it out.

Daryl snorted. "The safer bet for being shot, sure. The center may be farther away, but it's gonna be a hell of a lot better than being shot on sight by the guys in uniform, or being crammed in with hundreds of other survivors, in case the military has changed their mind about killing civilians."

And it was a place that Merle knew. One that he would find. Because his brother was alive, and he would come after him. Daryl knew it.

Shane was quickly losing his patience. "Look here, Dixon-"

"I agree with Daryl."

Lori's voice cut through whatever Shane had been about to say, and he turned to her abruptly, shocked.

"What?"

She answered his incredulous gaze with a slightly apologetic air, but her eyes were no less steely.

"I'm sorry Shane. I know you think that we will be safe at Fort Benning, but after Atlanta... I just- I'm sorry, but what Daryl said about those protocols that his brother described makes sense. We all saw it. I want to believe that our army wouldn't point their guns at us, but I can't. I can't take the risk of being wrong about that. Not with Carl. Or Sophia." She nodded at Carol across from her, who smiled tightly back at her. "Daryl's center sounds like the better alternative."

Everyone else seemed to agree with that, if the nodding heads were anything to go by. Shane clearly wasn't happy with it, but he wasn't going to challenge Lori on the matter of Carl's safety. He loved that boy, too.

Dale cautiously brought up another matter.

"Can we get there, though? How much gas would a trip like that use up? Do we have enough in the tanks?"

"It should be doable!" Glenn perked up eagerly. "If we make full use of your RV, and pack smart, we can reduce the number of vehicles."

T-Dog nodded along. "We can siphon gas from the cars we leave behind. And we are bound to come across some abandoned cars on the way. That should keep our tanks running."

Shane sighed in defeat. "So we head to the rehab center? Everyone in agreement?"

There were nods all around, even from Carl, whose stetson protested the movement and fell right over the boy's eyes. Shane crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

"Fine. We need to sort out which cars make the most sense to keep around. Dixon, show me where this place of yours is on the map. We need to plan out a route with stops for rest."

* * *

They had decided on taking Dale's RV, Daryl's truck, and Shane's car for the trip. The RV would hold most of their people, Shane would drive with the two mothers and children, _(Lori and Carol were both hoping that being together on a road trip would make things a bit easier for Carl and Sophia)_ , and most of their cargo would be secured in the flatbed of Daryl's truck. Which left no space for Merle's bike. But that was okay. Because Merle would need his bike in order to catch up to the group when he finally got his ass back to camp. And this way, Daryl could leave a note for his brother on his bike, so that Merle would know where to head to.

"'Second Chances, Merle'? Is that some kind of code you two use?"

Came the curious question from behind Daryl, where he was currently kneeling in front of his brother's bike to tuck the note into place. He squinted up against the sunlight to pin Glenn with an unimpressed look.

"No, it's the name of the damn center. 'Second Chances, Rehabilitation Center'. They had this whole spiel about how it was all symbolic and shit."

He shrugged, straightening back up as he gave the bike an experimental shake. The note stayed in place. It would lead Merle to the right place, but leave anyone else who might stumble upon it clueless. Which was exactly what Daryl wanted. No way in hell did he want some group of desperate people with nothing to lose to find the place they were going to hole up in. The undead freaks were a danger they could handle _(or learn to handle, as in the case of most of the city slickers)._ But fellow humans in a state of chaos and despair? That was the kind of unpredictable animal Daryl didn't want to tangle with any time soon.

"Well, I guess it was a second chance for an addict, right? And now, it kinda will be a second chance for us, I guess. At least until this whole nightmare is over and things get back to normal."

Daryl sighed deeply, trying to not snap at the younger man the way he really wanted to.

"Kid-"

"Don't. Please."

The plaintive way he said it made Daryl swallow his words back down, as he looked at Glenn with a raised eyebrow. The Korean swallowed thickly.

"I know. This isn't gonna end anytime soon. Things aren't suddenly gonna go back to normal. I know. But, I need to believe that there is a chance that... that there is hope that... I just... I _need_ to believe this right now."

Then he pinned Daryl with a look that was so earnestly desperate, that the other man could do nothing else but nod. It was a stupid waste of time, in Daryl's opinion, to fool yourself into believing in the silver lining, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It would only make reality crash into you that much harder when you were finally ready to accept it. But people dealt with things differently, and Daryl sure as fuck was not the poster child for healthy coping mechanisms. If Glenn needed to believe that the scientists of this world were just about to mix up a cure for the walking dead, and that the governments would round everyone up and fix it all in record time, in order to deal with this new world and all it's fucked-upness, then Daryl would let him. For now.

"There something you wanted, Glenn?"

Remembering his original reason for seeking the older man out, Glenn looked almost shy. 

"I thought I could ride with you? Like you said, no one slept last night. If we buddy up, we can switch off driving duty and both get some sleep."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him.

"You ain't got an insatiable need to fill the silence with inane chatter, do you?"

Glenn shrugged.

"Kind of? But I'm way too tired for that. And I can curb it in other circumstances as well. I swear. I won't talk your ear off."

He hoped to god that was true.

"Alright then."

Glenn threw his arms up in the air. "Whoohoo, road trip! Here we come!" and then trotted over in the direction of Daryl's truck.

Daryl had a feeling he was gonna regret this.

* * *

The fire burned bright in the rearview mirror of his truck, as Daryl followed the caravan of Shane's car and Dale's RV away from the quarry. He had been surprised, not in a bad way, though, when Carol had stepped forward, asking to be the one to light up the funeral pyre. Daryl had managed to lay Ed's corpse at the beginning of the pile, and had doused him with what was left of Merle's moonshine. He had wanted to burn the fucker first, just to make sure that there would be nothing left of him. He would have expected Carol to avert her eyes, or walk away, just too used to taking the shit life threw at her from years living with her abusive bastard of a husband. Just like his own ma had been. But Carol had stepped up right beside him and asked for the matchbox instead. 

"He was my husband. I should be the one to do it."

To get closure. Or a sense of revenge. Or just the simple pleasure of watching him burn. Daryl didn't care for her reasons, but he respected her for wanting to do it. So he gave her the matches and took a step back. She didn't hesitate over it long, but he saw a tiny tear make its way down her cheek, as she lit three matches at once and threw them at what was once her husband and tormentor. The fire caught quickly, and they couldn't stay long to watch, but Daryl hoped that she used this moment not just to say goodbye to Ed specifically, but to every scumbag who might try to follow in his footsteps in the future as well. 

He spared a quick look at the slumbering Glenn in the passenger seat and thought over the younger man's words earlier. Maybe he was right. They were headed to their 'Second Chances'. All of them.

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Do we even need an endnote? We talked so much at the beginning.
> 
> Canon: Well, we could use the space here for me to criticize every single detail I don't like about the changes you did to my plot.
> 
> Me: OR, we could use the space to recommend funny stuff that might make people laugh!
> 
> Canon: I like my idea more.
> 
> Me: Your likes mean nothing to me. *insert evil laugh* SO! Beware of biased opinion, I find this guy: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3v6sjWuPxtW36jQ-if4OuA  
> belly achingly funny. Especially his videos about testing ' 5-minute crafts hacks', and his 'Google translate makes' cooking videos.  
> And have you ever watched the Graham Norton show? 80% of the time, I don't even know who the celebrities on his couch are (not because they aren't famous, but because I live under a rock of ignorance), but I still laugh my ass off. This story, in particular, had me rolling on the floor:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=UIL9CiUDHp0&fbclid=IwAR3Vhov2FNduOtSqnDMRMvK_XCOEmnuGl_5KYM1kDjhbLzomGHWWoel6gS8&app=desktop
> 
> Now, I hope you all have a wonderful day, I thank you so much for reading this fic, and I will see you in the next chapter!
> 
> Canon: But aren't we going to-
> 
> Me: Nope!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!!!!  
> I hope you all had a very merry christmas to all those who celebrated it in December!!!  
> I hope you all had (have) a very merry christmas to all those who (will) celebrate(d) it in January!!!  
> I hope you all had a great Hanukah!!!  
> I hope you all had a great holiday!!!  
> I hope you all had the greatest time ever!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I did something clever in this chapter.
> 
> Canon: No one thinks it's clever but you.
> 
> Me: It's super clever! I googled and stuff. The Latin word for 'Zombie' is 'Corpus Animatum'. (Or, well, it's the closest equivalent). Which henceforth will be used, spelled backwards, as the name of the anti-viral drug that is used to treat the bite infection. So: Mutamina Suproc. Mutroc for short! 
> 
> Canon: If that is your definition of clever, you never get to make fun of my plot again.
> 
> Me: ... No one likes you!

Merle's temperature spiked around midnight.

"What should we do? Should we give him another dose?" Rick was starting to panic.

"I don't think that's advisable. With all the pills we had to try out before he said he felt a slight improvement after taking the Mutroc, he is probably already highly overdosed. We could risk all kinds of counter effects by giving him more. Wasn't there a leaflet within the packet? Wait, let me check." Morgan scrambled for the packet of the anti-viral drug that had shown the most promise of working, and produced the folded information page. "... 'Not to be taken with alcohol... not to be mixed with other medication... best taken on an empty stomach... do not take more than one pill every 8 hours, unless otherwise prescribed by your doctor.' Well, at least we got the 'no alcohol' thing working for us. It's barely been four hours since Merle took the pill. If it requires a certain duration of effect, giving him another dose could result in poisoning."

"But what if not doing anything results in his death?" Rick was bent over the older man, feeling the pulse on his neck. It was fast but steady. Sweat was running down his face, a clear result of the fever, and his breath came in sharp bursts. What was the right thing to do?

"It could be a good thing, right? The fever might be a sign of the body burning away the infection." There was both hope and doubt in Morgan's voice.

"I don't know. I don't know. Maybe Merle knows? He has the most experience with these things between us, right? But should we wake him? Doesn't his body need rest if it is fighting the infection?"

But Morgan shook his head. "If he does need to take more medicine, we need to know now. Also, we should try to keep him hydrated."

Rick nodded and shook the older man's shoulder. "Merle. Merle! C'mon man, wake up."

It took a few shakes to get a reaction, but when Merle's eyes opened, Rick noted with relief that they weren't clouded over or whitening, like those of the walkers.

"Whassa 'ant, Off'cer Fri'ely?"

Was slurring words like this a bad sign, or simply normal after just being woken up?

"Your temperature is rising. I think it might be getting to dangerous degrees. Do you think you should take more of the Mutroc?"

It took a couple of seconds for the words to register with Merle, but when they did, he shook his head.

"Nah. 's fine. Shouldna take too much... Y'all gonna needs the shit prolly more often... Buncha pansy city slick'rs, ain't very observ- obsava- ... watchful like. Not like my lil' brother. He's always been like a damn hawk. Sees ev'ything. Coul' never hide my stash from him for long. Took all my damn drugs. Damn eagle eyes... Gon' get bit again, I bet. One of you, cause you ain't got no eagle-hawk eyes like my brother. Gon' need the pills then. I shouldna be taking more right now. Let tha last one get done working first, 'fore I take another. Shouldna take another right now. Not till after... after I ain't so hot no more."

Despite the slurring words and minor delirium, Rick and Morgan puzzled together the information they needed from Merle. The medicine was running its course, helping the body fight off the infection. The fever was a byproduct of that. Merle would be up for another dose when the fever broke. Just to be on the safe side, Rick repeated this to Merle, asking for confirmation.

"'bout right. Shit needs some time to ... to work right. But if I get hotter,... HA! Like I ain't hot enough alr'dy, shame there ain't no ladies here to 'precciate it. Anyway, if tha fever gets worse, I's gonna need some... something against that. Can't take another anti-walker pill yet, but if things get like back when I was station'd in tha' desert, and I's start losing concs- concena- if I faint because I's too hot, you needs ta give me one a them pills from the blue package. Ya get that?"

Both Rick and Morgan nodded, the black man handing Merle a bottle of water.

"Then maybe it might be a good idea to keep you awake for a while? Make sure you drink enough, maybe some cold compresses, and some light talk to check your coherency."

For some reason, that cracked Merle up.

"Storytime with ol' Merle, huh? Why the 'ell not? So, which one you wanna hear? Tha one with 'Tha well hung Merle and the three lusty whores'? 'The giant that sweet, busty Jacqueline climbed.' Spoiler alert: that one leads into another one. 'The Beauty and my beastly cock.' Or how 'bout the one about 'Badass marine Merle and the forty hostiles'? They's all rated R, thou'. Imma jus' tell ya all a 'em, ya boys could learn somethin'."

The twin grimaces on both the other men's faces went unnoticed by Merle, and Rick quickly searched his brain for something to derail the older man from his chosen topics.

"How about you tell us about your brother?" Anything to not have to hear about Merle's sexual exploits.

He was a bit surprised when Merle immediately got defensive.

"Wha' about him, cop?"

Rick held up his hand in a placating gesture.

"I told you, I'm not really a cop anymore. Remember? I don't want to do anything to your brother, I promise. I'm just curious. C'mon, the guy is back at that camp with my wife and son and all I know about him is that he has 'eagle-hawk' eyes. Tell us about him."

Merle continued to eye him suspiciously _(which was a bit of a feat, considering how his pupils had trouble focusing)_ for a few seconds, but then relaxed and grinned lazily.

"Aww, ain't gotta worry non, Friendly. Always been the sweet one, Daryl has. He wouldna do a thing to harm a hair on a kid or a woman. He been hunting for them city slickers, bring'n fresh meat to tha table. Been watchin' out for them kids, too. Thought I dinna notice him showing them spic brats how to tell tha good mushrooms from tha bad ones. Saw him slip some a his food to that other kid, too. Lil' girl, prolly as old as your boy. Got a bit of a bastard for a daddy, that one."

This had both Rick and Morgan look up sharply. Rick had seen enough 'bastard daddies' in his line of work to last him a lifetime and he held no love for them, and Morgan remembered well what Merle had told him about what his own father would have done had he been in Morgan's stead a half day ago.

"But the guy ain't done nothing so far, so I dinna tell Daryl 'bout it. He would do somethin' stupid, ya know? Prolly beat the guy bloody if he knew. And ain't like I gotta problem with tha'. Hell, I woulda held the guy down. Bu' that wouldna have gone over very well with them other campers there, ya know? 'Specially not with that stick up his ass partner of yours, Friendly. So's I decided to keep my mouth shut until the guy overstepped." Merle made a short pause to take a drink of water. He looked contemplative after swallowing it down.  
"Baby brother wouldna just stand by,.. ain't like our ol' man was. Or me... He ain't never done no drugs, those shrooms the one time don' count. Ain't never drank more than he knows he can handle... Daryl's 'bout fifteen years young'r than me, ya know? I prac'ily raised 'im. Couldna count on the old man to do it." His voice took on a solemn quality. "I tried to do right by him. I did. Jus'... never been no good at pulling through. Was always in and out of juvie, spent a lotta days in holding cells. Short stint in prison when I's old 'nuff. Quit drinkin' and started again. Quit the drugs and then started again..."

Rick felt strangely reminded of when he had first met Merle on that roof in Atlanta when he had asked the man whether or not he had done anything to warrant being handcuffed to that pipe. That moment of guilt and regret shining through pale blue eyes, which had been quickly replaced by anger and confrontation. This time, the older man just looked sad and haggard, weighted down by the mistakes of his past.

"Ain't always been a good brother to 'im. Let him down a lot, I did. I tried, though. Got clean long enough to enlist, stashed Daryl with our uncle Jess... Figured I would play soldier for a while, get myself a stable income, maybe enough to send my brother to a school somewhere far away from our pa, then go into the reserves after a few years, stay on the straight 'n narrow... wasn' able to pull through, though. Wasn' never able to pull through. Got my ass kicked out of the marines, got back home, and then got right back into them drugs and drink. Our pa had died of a stroke jus' a few weeks before, and uncle Jess dumped Daryl back with me. Baby bro was still a teen then, so I became his guardian. Shoulda been the reason for me to finally pull through, ya know? Shouldna have mattered that Daryl was very fucking capable of takin' care of hisself by then. I was still responsible for 'im. Shoulda been enough for me to finally kick them fucking drugs and shit. An' I wanted to!... But I didn't. I just ... just ain't never been no good at pulling through."

It wasn't a pretty picture that Merle painted for his audience, and Rick was sure it would have been a heavily edited story if the fever wasn't loosening the older man's tongue. Rick had come across very few addicts in his time as a Sheriff's deputy who had even wanted to shake the habit and fewer that succeded.  
Rick believed that Merle had truly wanted to do better for his younger brother, it was written all over the feverish and tired lines of his face as he spoke of his past. He felt deep sympathy for both Dixon brothers at this moment.

"Then do it now." Morgan piped up, looking straight at Merle. "Pull through now. Fight the bite. The infection. Your addiction. Pull through it all now, once and for all. Pull through to the other side and then never go back. Getting clean is the easy part. Staying clean, though, that's the battle that never ends. And it's not one you can fight alone. We will help you. But you gotta pull through this first. Proof that the bite doesn't have to be fatal. Give us hope for the future."

Rick nodded fervently at his friend's words, turning back to Merle.

"Morgan's right. You just worry about not becoming a walker, and we will help you stay clear of the drugs. Hell, I will clock you over the head with my gun if I need to." He smiled teasingly. "I might even enjoy it, so you probably shouldn't tempt me too much." It coaxed a sharp laugh out of Merle and Rick felt himself relax a fraction. "So, this is the plan. You beat this infection, then we all pack up and get to that quarry, collect our families and everyone else who wants to tag along, and then we will find somewhere safe and secure for all of us. You told me on that roof that you would guide me back to my family. So I will get you back to your brother as well."

Even with the slight sheen of sweat coating his face, Merle's look was no less piercing as he assessed first Morgan, then Rick. After a seemingly endless moment, he nodded.

"Men who stand by their word, are ya?" Then he smirked. "My brother's gonna like ya."

-

Merle's fever broke at dawn.

* * *

"Really? Goats?" Rick raised a skeptical eyebrow at his companion in the passenger seat, as he sped along the highway. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed the car that Morgan and Duane were in right behind them.

Merle barked out a laugh.

"I'm tellin' ya! I took the runt to the zoo as a belated birthday present, and one of tha goats in the petting pen bit him on the ass. Darleena's been holding a grudge against the animal ever since. It's fucking hilarious."

Merle had made a speedy recovery as soon as the fever had broken. Another Mutroc, lots of water, and a few hours of sleep, and it was almost as if the bite had never happened.  
Despite Merle's assurances that he was "Fit enough to fuck my way through a whore house", _(and really, Rick could have lived without that mental image)_ , they had decided to give it another day of rest, before leaving their little safe house in King County and head for the quarry.

After that night spent fretting about whether or not the older man would survive the bite, Rick had made use of his newly discovered skill of keeping most of Merle's crass and offensive stories and commentary to a minimum. Making the man talk about his little brother. _(Not that those stories didn't occasionally steer into the rated-R territory as well, but they were still much more pleasant than hearing about how Merle had talked an older prostitute into a discount for a blowjob, since she had fake teeth.)_

"Got him one a those overpriced plushies at the gift shop that looked like a goat. He tied it to a tree back home and used it as target practice. Wasn't happy till he managed to land an arrow in all the 'vital' parts. Was good training. Lil' bro is a fucking crack shot. Can nail a turkey between the eyes from like 15 yards away."

And while that criminal psychologist his station had worked with once for a case, would have probably had a few things to say about a child tying a plushie to a tree and shooting it full of arrows, Rick felt very comforted by Merle's assessment of his brother's skills. Knowing that a man with superb shooting abilities and wildlife experience was in the same camp as his wife and son, and helping to protect it and them from the walkers was immensely calming.

Not that he wasn't still worried for his family's safety though, and he didn't need Merle to tell him to "Better step on it, Friendly. Daryl's bound to be back from his hunt today, and if he hauls his fool ass into Atlanta to get me off a roof I ain't been on for the past two days, he's gonna be pissed enough to aim his crossbow at the both of us."

So step on it he did. Rick couldn't wait to have Carl and Lori in his arms again. 

* * *

As the last few straggling walkers stumbled their way into the dwindling funeral pyre, one collided harshly with the motorcycle positioned close to the trees. The impact didn't register with the walker, just like nothing else did for them except for sounds, lights, and fresh meat. It never noticed nor cared when the bike fell sideways. Neither did it have the capacity to realize that the note that had been tucked to the bike, got tangled in it's clothes, as it followed it's fellow walkers into the fire.

* * *

This was a nightmare.

Rick was still sleeping, in that bed in the house in King County, or even in his room in the hospital. He was still sleeping, and this was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything else but a nightmare. Because no way in hell could he have survived a gunshot that could have easily killed him, woken up from a coma into a new world that could easily kill him, and went through the insanity that was the last few days, only to find the place where his family was supposed to be safely waiting for him, abandoned.   
And worse than just simply abandoned, but also featuring a mountain of burned corpses. 

Please. 

It had to be a nightmare.

"-ck. Rick! Snap out of it!"

Morgan's face came into focus in front of him. The man was looking at him in a mix of anxiety and worry. 

"You with us again?"

Rick nodded numbly, still not certain if he was 'with them', or if he might be better off checking out again. Morgan laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"I know this looks bad, Rick. But come on, get up."  
Get up? Why would he need to get up? Was he- Oh. Right. He was on his knees, in the dirt, where he had crumbled in on himself upon seeing the state of the camp.  
"That's right, steady now. It's okay."  
But it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. There were destroyed tents and torn clothes lying around. Two damaged pans around what must have been a fire pit. Cars with their doors left open at the edges of the trees. Blood on the ground. There was blood _everywhere_.  
He could feel himself moving, with Morgan's assistance, getting back to his feet, standing up. He felt lost.

"Rick, look at me." He did. Staring into Morgan's sympathetic eyes was better than taking in the devastation around him.  
"Good, that's good. Listen to me. You are in shock. Understand? You saw something upsetting, and your mind jumped to the worst conclusion." Of course it did. The camp was abandoned. Destroyed. His family was dead. What other conclusions could there be?  
"But you aren't seeing the whole picture. Come on, Rick. You know what they say about assuming things. Don't do this to yourself. You were a cop, you know how this works. Take in the scene."

The voice of his training instructor came to his mind. _"It's not your job to assume things and point fingers. It's your job to find the evidence and use your brain to draw the right conclusions."_  
  
Take in the scene. Get the whole picture. Use your brain.

Tents were damaged and trampled, and some broken belongings were strewn around the ground. But Rick could only make out a few tents. Merle had said the camp held about thirty survivors. There was no way that thirty people had fit into what couldn't be more than six regular-sized camping tents. The first tendrils of hope started to grow inside him.  
He spied nine cars parked along the forest line, their doors and trunks open. He stepped closer, Morgan right on his heels. The cars were empty. Completely. They had been cleaned out.  
He took a step back, breathing deeply, the tendrils growing stronger.  
The pile of burnt corpses. A shallow ditch. Someone had had to do this. Dug the ditch, pile up the corpses, set them aflame.

"They got overrun..." He started saying slowly, tentative. "The walkers must have come out of the trees, surprised them..." The trampled tents, the broken belongings. "The walkers got some of them, but they managed to kill them eventually." The shell casings on the ground, the blood. His voice grew stronger. "They piled up the corpses and burned them." So many of them. How many of those had been the walkers attacking the camp, and how many of those were the campers? "They packed up everything that was still useful and cleared out." The cars with their open doors and trunks. He had followed the evidence. It made sense. The camp had been attacked, but they had managed to fight the walkers off. Deeming the camp no longer safe, the remaining survivors had packed up and left.  
He looked around once more, concentrated, searching. "Non of those tents are ours." That might not be enough to rule out that Lori and Carl were among the unlucky victims of the walker attack, but- "Shane's car isn't here. Non of the things lying around are Lori's or Carl's." -this had to mean something, right?  
Right?  
Please. This had to mean something.

Morgan gave him an encouraging nod. "That's good, Rick. That's great. That means there is hope. So we are gonna hold on to that, you hear me? Come on, let's see what Merle's got for us. He wanted to check the grounds around the fire pit some more, try to make sense of the tracks there. Duane's been following him around like a duckling, trying to learn. I'm very worried about the kind of vocabulary he might be picking up, so let's go before my son learns any more four-letter words."

Rick nodded quickly, because any additional information the older man might be able to provide them with was a step closer to Rick finding his family. Because they were alive. They were alive and had fled the quarry. They had to be. _Please_.

Merle was in the process of heaving up a motorcycle that had been laying on the ground, Duane was right beside him, eyes huge as he took in the bike. Merle looked up as he heard the two men approaching.

"Nice of you gentlemen to join us. You done with your little episode, Friendly?"

Morgan looked ready to reprimand the man, but Rick was getting used to Merle's attitude and he really didn't want to waste time right then.

"What have you got? Can you tell us anything about what happened here? Who all-" he had to pause to swallow, "who all survived? Where they went?"

Merle scoffed. "Well, ain't take no brain surgeon to figure out what happened here. Camp got overrun. I've been telling my brother the perimeter's bad. Line of sight is just too fucking unclear. People been making too much noise as well, was only a matter of time before they drew in more unfriendlies than the ones that Daryl and me been taking care of in them woods for weeks. Oh well, no use bitching about it now, I guess." Then he pinned Rick directly with an understanding look. "Ain't no children in that funeral pile over there. Checked it out as much as I could. Didn't go digging too deep, of course, but they wouldna have laid down the kids first. Wouldna have been right to pile all them other bodies on top of a child. Can't say anything for sure about your wife or your buddy, but your son didn't die here, Rick."

The uncharacteristic use of his first name from the older man surprised Rick, and he took it as the comfort it was intended to be. Carl didn't die here. Carl was alive. His son was alive. While Merle couldn't offer the same assurance about Shane and Lori, the hope that had started to blossom inside Rick's chest grew. He nodded his thanks to the man, and Merle took that as his cue to carry on.

"Couldn't really identify any of the corpses, since they's too burnt for that and I didn't really know the fuckers here anyway. But I can tell ya that there's three vehicles missing here. That ass old RV from the old fart who dinna know how to properly maintain his rifle, a silver Tucson, and my brother's truck."

The ball of hope grew further. "Shane's car is a silver Tucson." He was alive. Why else would anyone take Shane's car over any of the others? Shane loved that car, but it wasn't the most practical of the bunch. Carl was alive. Shane was alive. Lori,... Shane would have protected her. They were alive. Rick _had_ to believe that.

Merle shrugged. "Figured a copper would have such a boring piece of crap. Anyway, far as I can tell, they drained the other cars of gas and divvied up the people and cargo between those three. Lil' bro left my bike, so I figure he used his truck's bed to stow all the camping gear of everyone. So any other survivors must be bundled up in that RV or with your cop buddy."

Duane looked from the motorcycle to Merle. "Are you... are you angry that your brother left without you? Do you think he thinks you are dead?"

To both Rick and Morgan's surprise, Merle laughed. "Nah. I woulda been hella pissed if Daryl had parked his fool ass here to wait for me, when this place obviously wasn't safe. And he knows I'm alive. Wouldn't have left my bike for me otherwise. I built this baby up myself." He spared a moment to lovingly pat the bike's seat. "If Daryl thought I wouldna be coming back for it, he would have either rode it himself or burned it with the rest of those fuckers over there. He knows I wouldna want anyone else to ride it." Then he frowned. "Coulda left me a fucking clue where they ran off to, though. He's probably still pissed at me about Atlanta. Making me go look for him as punishment or some shit."

That comment worried Rick. "Wait. He didn't leave you anything? Some kind of message, or code word, or, hell, a stupidly complicated puzzle for you to decipher?"

Merle pinned him with a raised eyebrow and a judging look. "This some Illuminati shit? You been watching too many conspiracy movies there, Friendly."

Duane brought them back on track. "But how will we find them, if your brother didn't leave you anything to follow? Do you know where he would go? Have you talked about this before?"

The boy was clutching the gun at his side, looking around worriedly. Morgan could relate, this place certainly didn't give off a comforting atmosphere. He laid his arm around his son's shoulders and brought him closer to his side. Duane leaned into the comfort.

"Well, if it were just my brother, I would be able to make an educated guess as to where he would be headed. But problem is, Daryl wouldna have been the one to decide the group's destination. Lil' brother ain't the leader type. That would be your buddy, deputy Rubs-his-head-a-lot. That is, if he survived what happened here."

Rick gave a determined nod. "Shane's alive. I'm sure of it. You don't think your brother would try leading the group somewhere you would know to look for him? Or do you think he would have left to meet up with you?"

The thought made something clench inside of Rick. If Merle's younger brother had left the group of survivors in an effort to find his brother, it would not only take a capable fighter and provider away from his son, but would also hold the potential of Merle splitting from them. And no matter how aggravating the older man had proven to be on occasion, he was a valuable asset. And he was also starting to like the man. A little.

"Told you. Little bro ain't the leader type. He don't think people are gonna listen to him, so he usually don't bother. Unless he's really pissed off about your choices, or it's a life or death kinda situation. And he wouldna have split from the group. He mighta, if there had only been the adults left. But with kids still in the mix,... Daryl's always been the sweet one. So's he will have gone along with wherever Walsh thought was the best."

The words reassured Rick immensely. The more capable people around Carl _(and a hopefully equally alive Lori)_ to protect him, the better. It left them at a bit of an impasse, though, to which Morgan got straight to the point.

"So where do you think your friend would go, Rick? You know him the best."

Where would Shane go? With a group of possibly traumatized survivors and kids to look out for, where would Shane think would be safe to lead them? A huff from Merle distracted him for a second.

"Can't tell ya a lot about them tire tracks. It's only that one road that leads in and out of camp, and with all the runs into Atlanta, that road has seen a lot of traffic over the past few weeks. Some of the dirt tracked out into the street the road feeds into, and it looks like one leads back into the direction of the city, though that's likely the one that was used for runs. The other is heading east. So, get that cop brain of yours in gear. What can you think of that's east from here, that your buddy would be heading towards?"

East. East. They were headed east. What was east from here? What would Shane believe to be safe? The answer came to him like a lightning strike.

"Fort Benning!"

"The army base?" Morgan asked. Rick quickly nodded his head.

"Military bases and camps have always held a bit of a fascination for Shane. He had originally wanted to enlist, but then his mother got sick and he joined me at the academy, so he could stay close and care for her. Fort Benning would definitely appeal to him as a safe harbor."

Merle scoffed, and even Morgan looked troubled. "Even after what the military did in Atlanta?"

"Yeah. He is probably convinced that the army did what had to be done in the city, but that they wouldn't turn away any survivors that popped up, looking for help." Then he shot a very apprehensive look to Merle. "Would they?"

The older man breathed deeply for a moment, squinting against the sun, before answering. "Depends on the kind of standing orders the base received from above, before it all went shit creek, and the kind of person who is currently in charge of the base. Walsh could be right, and Fort Benning might open their gates for strays. But they could also shoot anyone they deem a possible threat on sight. Daryl might be able to convince them to head back, if he thinks it's unsafe. He's always had a weird sense for when things are about to take a dangerous turn. But imma be honest with you here, Friendly, I don't like the odds."

Neither did Rick, and the group already had a significant head start on them.

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time. We need to head for Benning now!"

Rick prayed to any deity he knew that the men and women stationed at Fort Benning had indeed opened their gates to the group of survivors and offered them food, protection, and shelter. Or, if their orders regarding approaching civilians were to shoot first, that Merle's brother had been able to turn the group around before it was too late.

As Rick, Morgan and Duane ran for their cars, Merle swung his leg over his bike. "Imma scout ahead with Belle here. The old girl is loud as fuck, but better suited for difficult terrain than your cars. When we get close, I can get a bit of a read on the situation from an off-road location."

* * *

They were about thirty miles away from the military base, when Merle who was riding in front of the little caravan, suddenly stopped his bike and took out his gun to aim ahead. Rick quickly braked, _(slightly behind the motorcycle and to it's left)_ , grabbed his trusty phyton, and opened the door.

"What's the situation?" He asked the older man as he got into position behind the open car door, drawing up his gun. The car that held Morgan and Duane stopped behind him, and he held up his hand to signal Morgan to stay put for now.

"Something is coming down the road toward us. Don't got a clear visual yet, but Imma rather be safe than sorry."

It was a sentiment Rick could support, so he stayed where he was, brought his revolver in front of him, and stared down the road at whatever it was that was slowly approaching them. It took a few moments of tense anticipation, but it was taking shape of something Rick was able to recognize. Three figures, one in the front, two in the back on both sides. There was something weird about them, their forms looking wrong. With every step they drew closer, Rick could make out more. A woman walked in the front. Dark skin, something strapped to her chest. She was holding something in both hands. In her right one was a... a stick? No. The sun had just glinted off the thing. It had to be something metal. A sword! In her other hand she had... were those chains? She was holding chains, leading behind her to the two tall figures of... walkers. He sucked in a breath. Merle seemed equally stunned.

"You seeing this, Friendly?"

"If you mean the woman with a sword who is leading two walkers on chains, then yes."

"Might be a crazy one. You reckon we should take them out?"

"No. No, wait a second. Let's try to get the whole story, first."

Rick stepped out from behind the cover of the car's door and beside Merle, his gun at the ready. As the woman came closer, more details became visible to both men. First, the walkers behind her were missing their arms and lower parts of their faces. Second, the woman was trembling, her steps weary and slow, her posture screaming exhaustion. Third and most important, she had a toddler strapped to her chest.

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Canon, we need to talk.
> 
> Canon: I agree. We definitely need to talk about how you have butchered my plot, screwed over my characters, and keep on rambling about boring things, instead of feeding the readers the action they came here for.
> 
> Me: No, that was not what I meant. We need to talk about... us. 
> 
> Canon: ... What do you mean?
> 
> Me: This! This whole thing where we rip each other new ones and pick each other apart and do this whole fourth wall breaking and backhand series analyzing stuff. It was fun at first, and many of the readers really enjoyed it, but... but I don't think it's working anymore.
> 
> Canon: But... I don't understand... I thought... I thought we had something special here!
> 
> Me: Yeah, so did I. In the beginning, I had so many ideas for little fights and arguments between us. And it was all so new and fresh and I was riding a high of starting a new project and all of that. But-
> 
> Canon: But what? But now you have lost interest in our chemistry? Now I'm not 'new' and 'fresh' enough for you and you have grown bored with me? Is that it?!
> 
> Me: Canon, come on. It's not you! It's... it's me. I just don't know if I can keep coming up with funny things for us to hash out in order to make the readers smile. I want the readers to smile. You come with a lot of very depressing topics and I need a way to counteract this until I can get the fanfic's plot to a lighter, more carefree point.
> 
> Canon: Oh, so now I'm 'depressing' as well! I have made my viewers laugh, too, just so you know! There have been times people have been clutching their bellies, laughing so hard while watching me! I can be funny!
> 
> Me: Look, I'm not saying you aren't, okay? (even though I kinda want to) I'm just saying, maybe, we need a bit of a ... a break.
> 
> Canon: A break?! Excuse you! What are we? Ross and Rachel? You want a fucking break?!
> 
> Me: Please calm down. I didn't mean to make you upset.
> 
> Canon: Well then maybe you shouldn't be saying that we should be breaking up!
> 
> Me: I'm not saying we should be breaking up! I just think that we should be trying something different.
> 
> Canon: Like what?
> 
> Me: Maybe I could post some headcanons and plot bunnies in the author's notes? Just some funny, little things that come to mind that still revolve around the characters and Rick and Daryl in particular, that might make the readers smile. (Or even inspire them to make use of said headcanons and plot bunnies in their own writing or art, if they like it?) You could still comment on those if you want!
> 
> Canon: ... I know how your brain works, I wouldn't leave one good hair on any of your pathetic little headcanons and plot bunnies. 
> 
> Me: That's fine! That's totally fine! This could be good for us! Something new to spice up the relationship a bit. So, what do you say?
> 
> Canon: ... Fine. But don't think you are off the hook! You'll be sleeping on the couch tonight!
> 
> Me: ... I feel this has gone a little too far...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I was planning to get the group to the farm in this chapter, but decided to split the plot up a bit, as otherwise, I felt this chapter would have gotten too dark, mood-wise. So the Greenes sadly won't make an appearance in this chapter, but the next one with Daryl's group will finally bring them into the plot. Yay!  
> *So this didn't show up properly in the tag search apparently, so I adjusted the upload date. Hope this fixes the issue and no one got confused over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've put my arguments with Canon on hold for a bit, and will now be sharing headcanons and plot bunnies, that hopefully will either make you smile or maybe even inspire you to use them in whatever way you want.  
> Far as I'm concerned, anything I post here is up for grabs. If anything you see posted here, might inspire you to write or draw something, or whatever other creative outlets you talented people out there have, please feel free to help yourself to it. (The same, of course, also goes for this fanfiction as a whole. If you like something written here and would like to try your own hand at it, go right ahead. I will not come after anyone going like: But this was my idea, you can't just take it! - Seriously, that is NOT gonna happen.  
> I write what I want to read. So, logically, if my writing should happen to inspire other stories, I will be afforded more reading material I will most likely enjoy.  
> So, win-win, right?  
> Also, feel free to share any headcanons you have (if you want to), or add on to the ones I post.

_'Fucking people clogging up the fucking road with their fucking cars!'_ , Daryl thought as he vaulted over one of the stranded cars on the highway the group had gotten stuck on, to drive his knife into the back of the undead freak's head that was about to take a bite out of Jacqui. The woman gave him a grateful nod before she gripped her knife tighter and turned to the next incoming threat.

It had started out with only one of the freaks.  
  
Seeing as they would be unable to make it through the traffic jam with their vehicles, the group had decided to go through some of the abandoned cars and see what they could scavenge. It wasn't a pleasant thing to be doing, as some of the cars had corpses trapped inside them. Others keeping those that had reanimated trapped.  
  
Lori had made her displeasure with the plan known. "This is a graveyard. I don't know how I feel about this."  
  
Daryl hadn't been impressed. "Well, you can think about your feelings while going through the cars."  
  
Shane had taken a step towards Daryl immediately. "Dammit Dixon, show some sympathy!"  
  
And since Daryl was still pretty pissed at the former deputy, he had stepped right up as well. "Why don't you take your fucking sympathy and shove it where the sun-"  
Then Dale tried to mediate. "Guys, please. Let's all calm down. There is no need for this kind of hostility."  
  
But Shane was just as pumped as Daryl. "Oh, believe me, Dale, there is every need for this kind of hostility. I'm not letting some backwoods redneck-"  
  
Then Lori stepped in. "Shane. Please. This isn't helping."  
  
But it had taken both Andrea and Jacqui to defuse the situation. "Everyone stop! We do not have time for a pissing contest right now. Shane, Daryl, back off."  
  
Jacqui nodded at Andrea's statement, then had turned her gaze to Lori. "I know this isn't easy, but we don't have a choice. The road is blocked, which means we will have to take a detour. This will add a few hours to our previously estimated travel time. We need to stock up on gas, and any supplies we can. Especially water. If any of the cars here have what we need, we just can't afford to be picky."  
  
Lori had seen the sense in those words, Shane and Daryl had backed off from each other _(though the obvious tension between them remained)_ , and the group had started scavenging.  
  
That's when the first undead freak had come stumbling out of nowhere. A growl, a nearby Amy backtracking with a panicked gasp, the sound of the crossbow's release, and a bolt slicing neatly through one white eye. That should have been it. But then another growl had sounded. And then another. And another.  
Before they knew it, they had been surrounded by the undead, not unlike the night before. And just like then, they fought.

It was Glenn who felled the last one with a swing of his crowbar, breathing hard from both the exertion and fear. Shane lowered his gun, surveying the scene, as he called out to the others.

"Everyone alright? Lori, Carl, where are you?"

The group had been too spread out in their search for supplies, and while the sudden attack had herded some of them closer together, Daryl hadn't been able to keep up a headcount. Jacqui was beside him, Glenn only a few feet away, next to Shane. T-Dog, Andrea, and Amy appeared from behind a huge van. Dale had managed to get up on his RV and shoot some of the freaks in the others' blind spots. Lastly, Lori and Carol came into view, the two women looking around frantically.

"Carl? Carl!"

"Sophia? Where are you, baby?"

"Mom!"

Carl ran up to his mother, tears falling down his face. Lori and Shane ran to meet the boy halfway.

Dammit, that was only one kid accounted for. Where was the little girl?

Carl answered Daryl's unspoken question as soon as he was in his mother's embrace.

"Mom! Shane! Quick! We have to find Sophia!"

Carol darted forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"What happened? Where is my daughter?"

The rest of the group came closer as well, as little Carl tried to wipe his tears away and get in enough air to answer Carol.

"We were over by that big truck when Dale told us to hide. I took Sophia's hand and pulled her with me, and we crawled underneath the truck. When we didn't see any more of them walking past, Sophia thought it was safe and she wanted to look for her mom." _Carol drew in a sharp gasp._ "I told her to wait, but she crawled out, and then there were suddenly two more of them, and Sophia ran into the trees over there, but they saw her and went after her!"

Shit!

"Where did she go in? Show me!"

Shane made a move to stop Daryl, but Carl had ripped himself out of his mother's embrace to run back to the place where he had seen his friend disappear into the forest, Daryl and the others hot on his heels.

"Here. She climbed over the banister here, but the geeks were right behind her, and then she ran. I, I couldn't see where she ran to, I'm so sorry." Carl looked to the ground shamefully. Lori sank to her knees before him right away, taking his face into her hands and lifting it back up to look at her.

"No, Carl. No. This wasn't your fault. You did the right thing staying hidden and getting us as soon as it was safe."

Shane laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Your mom is right, buddy. You did good."

Daryl was crouched over the tracks at the other side of the banister, trying to get a clear image of what Sophia's shoeprints looked like. The shuffling gate of her undead pursuers had smudged most of them.

"We need to go after her. Right now! She is only twelve!" Carol was crying, wringing her hands together, wanting to run, but not knowing where to.

"We will, Carol. She can't have gotten too far, we will find her." Dale tried consoling the woman, though it was easy to see how worried he was for the little girl as well.

 _There!_ Finally a decent print. Daryl had a direction. He straightened up and took his crossbow off his shoulder.

"Got her tracks. I'm going after her."

Most of the group stepped forward, ready to follow him into the woods, but Daryl held up a hand.

"No, you all stay here. In case she makes her way back to the highway."

T-Dog spoke up first. "More people to look for Sophia means a better chance to spot her. Also, there might be more of those geeks in the woods, you shouldn't be on your own in there."

Daryl scoffed while loading another bolt. "More people who don't know nothing about tracking means a better chance of you guys trampling over the tracks I need to follow. Y'all will just slow me down. I'm better on my own."

Carol stepped closer to him, desperate. "Please, she is my daughter. I can't stay here while she is in danger!"

The woman was close to breaking down, even Daryl could see that, but he didn't have time for meaningless platitudes. "Yes, ya can. I can't look for your kid if I have to worry about dragging your useless ass along. Stay the fuck here!"

He didn't give anyone a chance to respond or stop him, and turned and sprinted into the direction the tracks had shown him.

Most of the group was left in a weird state of anger, indignation, and worry. No one appreciated the way Daryl had just spoken to a distraught mother, or being left out of helping to find little Sophia. But neither was anyone comfortable with the thought of Daryl being out there alone.

Still pressing Carl closely to her side, Lori laid a comforting hand on Carol's shoulder. "Come on, let's try to set up some vantage points along the highway, in case Daryl is right and Sophia comes out of the forest somewhere further up or down."

Carol sniffed, still trembling slightly and tears running freely down her face, but she gave Lori a tight nod and the three of them went back. Dale fell into step beside the women and child. "I'll go with you. I'll feel better if you have someone with a weapon escort you on the way back. Amy, Glenn, why don't you also come along? We can set up the first post on top of the RV, maybe organize a patrol route along the banister."

Glenn was about to protest, but Dale shot him a covert look, raising his eyebrows and quickly nodding to the shaken forms of both mothers, Carl, and Amy. T-Dog also gave the young man a subtle nudge, and Glenn hefted his crowbar and motioned to the younger blonde. "Dale's right, we shouldn't split up into too small groups. And we need to stake out some points from which we have the best view of the area, in case Sophia comes back."

The 18-year-old looked uncertainly to her sister, but at Andrea's encouraging nod, likewise lifted her baseball bat over her shoulder and she and Glenn quickly caught up to the others. As soon as the small group was out of hearing range, the remaining four adults began arguing.

"We can't just leave the search to Daryl alone! What if there are more geeks in there than he can handle?" T-Dog looked ready to storm into the forest right then.

"Sophia is scared, she won't be running in a straight line. What if Daryl takes a wrong turn? We should go after him and cover different directions." Jacqui threw in, keeping a tight grip on her knife.

Andrea next to her nodded. "Jacqui and I can probably still catch up to him. I have some bullets left in the handgun I found in one of the cars before the biters attacked us."

Shane held up his hands in a staying gesture. "Look, guys, I hear what you are saying. But I have to side with Dixon on this one." He looked as if the words caused him physical pain. "He is the most experienced of us when it comes to tracking, and he will be able to move faster if he doesn't have to bring anyone else along. And seeing as the sun is already beginning to set, we can't afford to lose any time."  
When it looked like the other three were about to protest, Shane went on. "I'm worried about Sophia, too. But we won't be any help to her if we stumble blindly along the forest, and possibly damage her tracks. What we can do is go back to the highway, set up a perimeter with lookout spots for both Sophia and the undead, and keep looking for more supplies. We are gonna have to spend the night here, and then we can look for another route to the center tomorrow. Hopefully, Dixon will have found Sophia by then and brought her back."

Clearly unhappy with this, Andrea crossed her arms over her chest. "And if he hasn't?"

"Then we are gonna have to make a decision." With those ominous-sounding words, Shane ushered the three back to the other group members on the highway.

* * *

Sophia ran.  
She ran and ran and ran.  
She was scared. So scared. So scaredsoscared _soscared_.  
  
She had managed to hide from the two monsters that had followed her from the highway in some bushes. She had wanted to wait for them to pass her, to be out of sight, but then suddenly there had been that horrible snarling sound right behind her, and another monster had appeared. In her shock, she had lost grip of her doll. And then she was running again.

She should have been faster than the monsters, but the forest floor was uneven and full of obstacles, and her right foot had gotten tangled in a root, causing her to crash to the ground. The monsters had come closer while she scrambled back to her feet, and then there had been a sharp pain in her ankle as she put weight on it. She tried her best to ignore the pain, keep running, away, away, _away_ from the monsters! But it was slowing her down.

She looked back, trying to see how close they were, and cried out in surprise as she stumbled again, falling forward.  
She brought up her hands to catch her fall.  
It hurt.  
She threw herself around, scrambling backward as she saw the monsters coming closer.

Her hands hurt. Her ankle hurt. She was so scared.  
The monsters were coming _closer_.  
  
_Please-  
_  
She wanted her mommy.  
  
_please, she didn't want-  
_  
She didn't want the monsters to get her.  
  
_She didn't want to die!  
  
_Closer and closer-  
  
_She was petrified.  
_  
They were coming closer, they were-  
  
_So scared.  
_  
They were snarling!  
  
_So scared!  
_  
The monsters were bumping into each other, their arms already reaching for where she was on the ground.  
  
_So scared. Please. Please. Please!-_  
  
**_Someone save me!_**

The one in the middle fell to the ground, scant inches away from Sophia's feet, a bolt protruding from the back of its head.

Daryl didn't waste any time reloading his bow and just sprinted to where the remaining two undead freaks were still going for the girl. What the crossbow lacked in quick reload time, it made up for in doubling as a bludgeoning tool. He rammed the butt of it against the head of one freak, pushing it to the ground. The other one turned around to him, reaching out it's decaying hands and opening its foul-smelling mouth. Daryl had his knife in the freak's forehead before it could finish snarling. He lifted his leg and kicked the now motionless corpse away, spinning around to bury the long knife into the temple of the remaining freak, that was just about to get back up and make a grab for him.

With the sudden absence of the snarling and growling the freaks made, Daryl's own rapid breathing all but echoed in his ears. Fuck. When was the last time he had run this fast? Or this long? The damn kid had not made it easy for him to catch up to her.  
This one had been close. Far too close. If he had overlooked even one of her tracks if he had just been that little bit slower if he hadn't gotten here at the exact time he did-  
The thought made panic rise inside of him. Kid had almost been eaten. The girl had almost fucking died! What the hell had she been thinking?! Running into the forest like that, then sitting on the fucking ground, waiting for the freaks to devour her foolish little self! Fuck!

He was just about to lay into her, get all this fucking panic out in a burst of anger _(anger was familiar, anger he could handle)_ because something like this could not fucking happen again! When the girl all of a sudden shot up from the ground, hobbled and nearly fell over the corpse in front of her, and tackled him in a hug.  
He almost took a step back, almost shoved her away from him, _almost_ yelled at her.

But the girl was shaking like a leaf, her whole body trembling. Taking big, heaving breaths between crying into his shirt, her arms so tight around his middle that it only made the shaking worse. She buried her head in his stomach to try and quieten her own wailing, obviously afraid to make too much noise, but unable to calm herself.

Fuck.

The girl had almost died. She had been scared, and she had been chased, and she had almost been eaten by a handful of rotting corpses that looked like nightmare fuel.

She was just a kid. Of course she was scared. Of _course_ she had run. She hadn't known any better.

And Daryl, like the stupid backwoods hick he was, had almost yelled at her for it.

Fucking fuck.

Slowly, ever so slowly _(because he had no idea what he was doing and he didn't want to spook her further)_ , he brought up his unarmed hand _(the other still held the knife tightly, he could not afford to be careless now)_ , and laid it on her shoulder. Sophia stiffened just for a moment, then pressed herself deeper into him, her tears still soaking his shirt.

"It's okay."

She was alive. He had gotten to her in time.

"You're okay."

_He hadn't failed._

* * *

"They aren't back yet." Carol was pacing around, wringing her hands frantically, looking up and down the highway border into the forest. Dale was next to her, his rifle securely over his shoulder. "Why aren't they back yet? Shouldn't Daryl have found her by now? Maybe he went in the wrong direction. Maybe something happened. I should go. I need to look for her."

Dale stopped her just as she stepped towards the banister. "Carol, please, I know this is hard, but you need to stay calm."

She looked at him incredulously. "Calm? My daughter is out there, alone, scared, and being chased by cannibalistic dead people! I can't,- I have to,- I need to find her!"

She was crying again, and Dale didn't even want to imagine what kind of fear Carol must be going through right then, but he couldn't give in to her.

"You need to stay here. Look, Daryl could have certainly chosen his words more kindly, but he wasn't wrong. No one else here can decipher tracks as he can. What if we go into the forest now, and accidentally erase a footprint? What if we get lost and need to be rescued ourselves, taking away attention from the search for Sophia? Carol, you don't even have a weapon. What if something happened to you out there? Who would take care of Sophia then?"

At his words, even though he had kept his voice as soft and non-confrontational as he could, the woman burst into more tears.

"I just, I can't lose her. Please. I can't lose my daughter."

Dale did the only thing he could do for her and enclosed her into a hopefully steadying embrace. "It will be okay. Daryl will find her. He probably already has and is looking for a safe place to stay the night. It's gotten dark, and traveling through the woods without enough light isn't safe. He has done it before, back at the camp, remember? Stayed in the forest for a night or two. He will keep your daughter safe until morning, and then he will bring her back."

He hoped to god he was telling the truth.

-

"Buddy, why don't you go with your mom, try to get some sleep?"

Carl shook his head vehemently, furiously rubbing his fist into his eyes to try to get rid of the tiredness. "No. Sophia isn't back yet."

Shane, Lori, and Carl were standing at one of the lookout points the group had established alongside the highway, in hopes of spotting Sophia should the girl come out of the forest on her own. So far it hadn't happened, and the sun was about to set. It wasn't safe for anyone to keep up their vigil on the open street during the night, and Shane wanted both Lori and Carl safely tucked away in either his car or Dale's RV.

Lori knelt down to her son. "Come on Carl, we all have to rest a bit. We won't be able to spot Sophia or Daryl if we can hardly keep our eyes open."

Again the boy stubbornly shook his head. "No. I can't just go to sleep. Not until Sophia is back. This is all my fault!"

His mother looked stricken. "Carl, no. No. This wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was! I was right there with her! I shouldn't have let her get out from under the car!" Carl's face was red, eyes glistening with angry tears. "I should have gone after her when the geeks saw her! I should have done something!"

"No!" The thought of Carl running after the mindless killing machines horrified Lori. "You absolutely should not!" She gripped him tightly on his shoulders, making him look at her. "These things are dangerous! If you had gone after Sophia, you could have died!"

Carl fought the grip his mother had on him, not willing to see reason, too caught up in his guilt. "What if she dies?!" He finally cried out. "What if Sophia is dead because I was too scared to run after her? Because I couldn't protect her?" His too big hat fell over his eyes as he lowered his head. "Dad would have- Dad would have been braver."

Lori clutched him to her as sobs shook his ten-year-old body.  
Oh god. This wasn't a world for children. Where flesh-eating monsters were roaming, and death and loss waited around every corner. How would she ever be able to protect her son in this world?

She looked up to Shane helplessly, and the man sank down beside the two. One big, strong hand went to Carl's back, stroking softly up and down.

"It wasn't your fault, Carl. Going after her then, trying to fight those things by yourself, that wouldn't have worked. And it wouldn't have helped Sophia for you to place yourself in danger like this. You coming to get us, telling us what happened, and showing us where Sophia went, _that's_ what is going to help her."

Carl lifted his head up, his tear-stained face looking to his honorary uncle imploringly. "But then why isn't she back yet? What if Daryl can't find her? What if I waited too long to get you? I was right there with her. It's my fault."

Shane shook his head. "No, buddy. You did everything right. I was right there with your Dad when he got shot. Do you blame me for what happened?"

The boy shook his head quickly, sniffling. "But that's different."

"No, it's not. Sometimes bad things happen right in front of us, and it's not fair, but it's not your fault. Understand?" Shane made sure to keep eye contact as he waited for Carl to answer. It took a few seconds, but finally, Carl nodded. 

"I understand."

Shane smiled and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "That's good, bud. Now, you and your mom are gonna get some sleep. I'll talk to the others and we will make up a schedule to keep watch."

"Can I take a shift? Please, Shane!" 

His first instinct was to say no, but Carl looked at him so earnestly and determinedly, just _so much like his father_ -

"You can take the shift with me, but only after a few hours of sleep, okay? We are gonna need to be on our best game, got it?"

Carl nodded quickly, a serious expression on his tired and still tear-stained face. Lori, still kneeling next to her son, also chimed in.

"We will all take that shift. You, Shane, and me. But we listen to what Shane tells us to do, you hear?"

Again, Carl nodded quickly, and Shane smiled. "Good. Now you two go on into the RV and get some sleep. I'll talk with the others and organize a schedule, and then I'll join you. And Carl?" He waited for a second to make sure he could look the boy right in the eyes. "Your dad would have been very proud of you today."

New tears threatened to spill from Carl's eyes, but he pressed his lips together and smiled happily to his uncle, determined to keep his head up high and not bawl again like a baby. As Lori got up from her kneeling position, one hand still on Carl's shoulder to steer him in the dimming light, she mouthed a grateful "Thank you." to Shane.

He watched them go until they disappeared into the old RV, caught between new worries and old guilt.

Knowing that Carl didn't blame him for what happened to Rick, was like a soothing balm on his soul.

... If only he could stop blaming himself.

Shaking his head free of his morose thoughts, he kept his gun at the ready and walked over to where Glenn and T-Dog, the two nearest to him, were looking into the forest for the missing girl. They needed to hash out the watch shifts.

* * *

The girl had busted her ankle and scratched up her hands a bit. The hands weren't much of a problem. They would sting, sure, but the wounds were only on a surface level and there was no damage done that shouldn't heal properly in just a few short days. The ankle, however, was gonna slow them down, and Daryl couldn't carry her all the way back and have his weapons at the ready in case they came across any more freaks.

Thankfully he had spotted a big, sturdy tree with lots of thick branches and a kind of square middle space, from which the branches spread out. It wasn't ideal, but they didn't have a lot of options to choose from. So he spun his crossbow around to hang over his front and got to his knees so Sophia could get on his back. She was hesitant.

"Isn't it dangerous to sleep in a tree? What if we fall?"

It was a smart question, and if he wasn't so agitated still and paranoid about the safety of their surroundings, he might have managed to curb his usual gruffness and answer her more kindly. As it was, he just snapped at the girl.

"Is better than staying on the ground and getting eaten. Now get on girl, we don't have all fucking night!"

He didn't need to look behind himself to know that she had flinched at his harsh tone. But she got onto his back and held on tight, so he started climbing without another word. Daryl had probably climbed more trees in his life than he could count, so the ascent - even with the added weight of the child on his back -, was quick. He heaved himself and the girl up into the tree's fork and helped her sit back against one of the bigger branches. The girl squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable. The sturdy branches went in almost every direction from the tree's fork, so there was actually enough space for both of them to sit upright and spread out their legs. But the bark was hard and rough, and Daryl hoped Sophia wasn't the kind of girl to scream and jump away if she saw a spider or other kind of creepy-crawly.

She was shivering, but since it was still summer, Daryl doubted it was due to being cold. She tried to curl her legs up to her chest, hissing very quietly as she moved her busted ankle wrong.

Right. Got hurt while trying to get away from freaks wanting to eat her. Scared and in pain. And stuck in a tree with an adult she didn't know well, who really didn't know how to deal with kids.

Fucking great.

"Let me see your foot, kid."

She startled and flinched away from the hand he had reached out to examine her ankle, and Daryl paused in his movements. He was shit at this. He didn't know how to handle kids. Especially scared ones. But he couldn't just leave it alone. Breathing deeply, he made an effort to make his voice sound a little softer, a little less angry. A lot less threatening.

"Ain't gonna hurt you, just need to see if you need a splint for your ankle. Gotta know if you can walk on this tomorrow."

Sophia looked wary still but slowly stretched out her foot toward him. He tried to be as careful as possible when he slipped off her shoe, but a low hiss still escaped her lips.

"Why..- why do we need to wait until tomorrow? Can't we go back to where the others are now? I.- I want my mom."

 _Don't shout, don't shout, don't shout!_ He took a deep breath. "Is too dangerous to go in the dark."

The ankle was slightly swollen and a bit warm to the touch, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. The girl looked at him with big, frightened eyes.

"Are the monsters stronger in the dark?"

 _Don't shout! She is a fucking kid! Just a scared, fucking kid! Don't shout!_ "Nah. It's us who are weaker. Can't see shit in the dark, could run into something sharp, or step into a ditch and fall down. Break something or rip something open. Can't see if one of those freaks is nearby unless they make their disgusting noises. Might even get in the way of other predators, if those haven't fled from them freaks. So we stay the night here. And when the sun comes up, we get back to the highway."

Sophia's eyes were still big and frightened, but she nodded her understanding. Good. At least one thing was going well. He reached to his back pocket and took out the rag he always carried with him. He folded it length-wise and then wrapped it tightly around her ankle, but made sure it wouldn't cut off circulation. She grimaced.

"I know it hurts now, but this will help. Don't think you broke anything, but it's probably at least a light sprain. If it still hurts bad tomorrow, you tell me right away, got it?"

She nodded quickly and Daryl got to his knees, inching forward a bit.

"Now, untie your jacket from your waist and give it to me."

She did as she was told, but was visibly confused and wary about what he wanted. Daryl understood that. He would be suspicious, too.

"You were right about sleeping in trees being dangerous. You turn in your sleep and roll over the edge, you'll be lucky with just a broken bone or two."

He leaned over her and wound her jacket and thankfully long sleeves around the branch she was resting against, tying the ends together over her stomach.

"This ain't completely foolproof, but it should keep you from moving around too much."

She looked down and let her fingers run over the knot for a second, then back up at him. "What about you? You don't have a jacket."

He scoffed. "Ain't my first night spent in a tree." He didn't plan on sleeping. "Don't worry about it, kid. Try to get some shut-eye."

Daryl eased himself back against the branch opposite hers, _(still close enough that he could catch her should the jacket fail to do its job and she rolled to the fork's edge in her sleep)_ , and laid his crossbow across his lap. She apparently heeded his words and closed her eyes, her head falling back against the branch she was secured to.

Daryl breathed deeply, familiarizing himself with the sounds of the forest around him. The soft, warm wind, the buzzing of insects, some crickets in the distance, soft ruffling of the underbrush to his left _(probably a rabbit getting into its den)_ , the unnatural, shuffling gate of some freaks further right.

"Mr. Dixon?"

He grimaced. He hated that name. "I told you to sleep. And it's just Daryl, kid."

"... I'm really scared."

Course she was scared. He should say something reassuring.

"That's okay. Makes you more observant. It's the naive, reckless people who think they's above fear, who get dead first." 

Was that a good thing to tell a kid? She looked just as scared as before. Fucking shit. He was so not cut out for this. 

"I don't think being scared made me more observant. I just ran, and I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't look in front of me, and I fell and hurt my foot, and then I froze when the monsters got close, and I almost died."

Fuck. Was she crying again? Why the hell were people always crying in his vicinity lately? What was he supposed to do about this? 

"Well, that was stupid." Shit! He probably should not have said that. That was not reassuring at all. Why the hell did he even care about reassuring the girl? God fucking dammit! "But that's okay, too. You make a mistake, you learn from it, you don't do it again." There! That must have been the kind of advice adults gave to children, right? 

The girl looked contemplative, mulling over his words. "I guess so..."

Was this gonna turn into a longer conversation? How the fuck could he get the kid to sleep? Then he quickly stuffed his hand into the lower pocket on his pants.

"Here, almost forgot," Daryl said as he carefully tossed over the doll he had found together with Sophia's tracks in a bush. "This is yours, right?"

Sophia caught the doll, eyes wide and happy, and clutched it to her chest. 

"Eliza gave it to me as a goodbye present. I thought I lost it!"

Alright, kid had her toy now. That should do it, right? "Well, the doll is back. Now go to sleep."

And for the next few seconds, Daryl thought he had succeeded in his attempts to get the girl to sleep.

"Mr-... Daryl?"

He sighed deeply.

"What, kid?"

"... Thank you. ... For saving me."

Was it stupid of him to hope she would fall asleep right away and he, therefore, wouldn't have to answer?

Probably.

"Wasn't nothing."

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, welcome to headcanon city! There is a wide variety, covering both Alternative Universes, as well as canon. They aren't necessarily connected with each other and can be totally random. 
> 
> I got this headcanon that every time Rick can't do or doesn't know something that Daryl does, Daryl blames it on him being a "city boy".  
> "Don't know how to build a shelf? Such a City boy. "  
> "Can't track a deer? You Pizza delivery spoiled City boy. "  
> "Did you just buy a frozen turkey for thanksgiving? You helpless little City boy. " (-this one would obviously not fit into a canon apocalypse universe)  
> \- Bonus, it works the other way around, too! Daryl can't work a computer? That's obviously cause he is such a *country boy*
> 
> Another one!
> 
> Whenever someone has to tell Daryl something that might throw the man into a rage, they quickly locate Baby Judith and shove her into his arms, before telling him.  
> Glenn: "Hey Daryl, can you hold Judith for a moment? Also, I scratched your bike."  
> Maggie: "Look Daryl, here is your favorite lil asskicker. Also, I lent Jesus your vest."  
> Rick: "There is Papa, Judy. Hey darlin'. I broke the shelf again."
> 
> One more for the road:
> 
> The birds and the bees with Daryl  
> In a version of the zombie apocalypse in which the group not only manages to survive and thrive (and save the lives of the people they love, especially the kids), Daryl will one day have to face all his (pretty much adopted) kids go through puberty and first romances.  
> And in true Dixon fashion, Daryl doesn’t sugar coat.
> 
> “There is a reason that condoms come in different sizes. There ain't no excuse not to wear one. If your boyfriend tells you he can’t wear a condom because they don’t fit, you cut off his dick and stuff it in one to show him he is wrong.  
> There is no such thing as ‘no time for lube’. A dry slide is painful for both of you.  
> Just because sex can get messy, don’t mean you should roll around naked in the dirt with each other. There are all kinds of nasty diseases that will rot your genitals off if you don’t bother cleaning yourselves before and after.  
> No means no. If someone tells you otherwise, shoot them.  
> Sex ain't an obligation. If your partner tries to pressure you into anything before you are ready, shoot them.”  
> Meanwhile, Rick just sighs and shakes his head at his lover, as other parental units send him incredulous looks.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have made one major (as I consider it) change to the things that happened in canon, here. And it revolves around Otis' death at Shane's hands. Now, Otis is still going to die here, but unlike the canon version, Shane isn't going to shoot him in the leg to make him walker bait while he escapes. I need Shane to be redeemable in this fic, and I personally don't think that you can come back from something as cold blodded as this. (It would have been different if Shane had killed Otis in canon. But crippling him and then leaving him to be torn to pieces, that's too much. So I changed it.)  
> This was supposed to be part of the previous chapter, but then I split it off, because I thought it would be too heavy, drama-wise, to have all this shit happen to the kids in one chapter. Which is why this is gonna be another chapter with Daryl's group, before we switch back to Rick's group in the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to random thoughts and headcanon city:
> 
> I know there are a few fics like that already, but I just like the idea of Rick and Daryl kinda falling into a relationship without realizing it. They live together (in any kind of settlement, in canon, or au), and some things just become routine. They share different chores around their living spaces, both take care of Carl and Judith, things just getting more and more domestic, Carl asking Rick if he can do something and Rick telling him to check in with Daryl (in that same way when your dad tells you to ask your mom)... And before you know it, Rick is kissing Daryl goodbye when he goes out, and it seems so natural that Daryl doesn't even notice until much later.  
> _  
> More in the end notes.

Second Chances Chapter 9

When morning dawned, Sophia and Daryl still hadn’t returned. Carol was a mess. She kept going up and down the street alongside the guardrail, anxiously looking into the woods beyond. 

T-Dog was walking beside her, keeping an eye on both the woman and the forest. 

Dale and Amy were perched on top of the RV, both with binoculars and swiveling their gazes into different directions. 

Jacqui and Andrea, knowing that there were no other watch areas for them to cover, were busying themselves with taking inventory of all the supplies they had found in the abandoned cars around them. 

Glenn was bent over the hood of Daryl’s truck, a map spread out in front of him, trying to come up with a search radius they could try to cover, should Daryl and Sophia not be back soon. 

Carl was hovering at the edge of the RV, at an angle that was out of sight of any of the others. Shane, his mother, and he had had the last watch shift, after relieving Glenn and Jacqui before them, and kept watch until the first tendrils of sunlight crawled over the horizon. They were supposed to get a few hours of sleep, while the others took care of things and kept an eye out for their missing members. 

After his talk with Shane the night before, Carl understood the sense behind being rested. He understood that what happened to Sohpia wasn’t his fault. He understood that there was nothing he could do right now. 

He understood all of that. 

But it didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel right to sleep while Sohpia was out there. It didn’t feel right to wait while his friend was lost. It didn’t feel right… to be useless. 

His mother and Shane were sleeping in the RV, and he was supposed to be in there with them. Resting. Accumulating the kind of energy the day would demand from him. 

He _understood_ that. 

But he couldn’t do it. 

Righting his hat so it wouldn’t obscure his sight, Carl quickly swept his eyes over where all the others were currently busy with their tasks. Double checking that T and Carol were still on the far end of the highway and with their backs to him, Carl ran as fast as he could to the other side of the road, ducking between two cars and rolling under the banister. 

Unbeknownst to him, Amy just caught sight of the back of his shirt through her binoculars, before he disappeared into the forest. 

“Oh no!”

* * *

Glenn had been the closest, so Amy had alerted him about Carl’s disappearing act first. After telling her to wake up Shane and Lori and inform them about what had happened, he had hastily picked up his crowbar from where it was leaning against the truck and sprinted after Carl. 

Glenn wasn’t an outdoorsy person. Nature did nothing for him and he much preferred a big and bustling city over the supposed serenity of the wild. He didn’t know what tracks looked like and much less how to follow them should he find any. But he had a good head on his shoulders and he was fast. 

Carl was a city kid as much as him, and the most logical thing for a ten-year-old who was worried out of his mind for his friend was to run in as straight a line as possible. So that was exactly what Glenn did. 

He thanked God when his hunch panned out and he caught up to the boy by a little chapel surrounded by trees. 

“Carl! Stop!”

For a moment, it looked as if the boy would just take off again, but then he clenched his hands into fists by his sides and waited for the Korean to reach him. 

“I’m not going back! Not until I find Sophia!”

Glenn lifted up his free hand in a pacifying gesture, trying to both lock eyes with Carl as well as keep aware of their surroundings. 

“I know you are worried Carl, but Daryl is already looking for her-”

Carl’s gaze turned furious as he interrupted. “That’s not enough! It’s already been a whole night! What if Daryl missed her?”

Fearing the kid might make a run for it at any moment, Glenn stepped close enough that he would be in arms reach.

“Daryl is an experienced tracker, remember? He found Sophia’s prints yesterday and followed them. He has the best chance of all of us to bring her back.”

But Carl stubbornly shook his head, his stetson falling off and hanging from his neck. 

“Then why aren’t they back yet? What if he didn’t find her before it got dark, and lost her tracks? What if he got hurt, or attacked by the geeks? What if Sophia-, I can’t just sit around and wait!”

It wasn’t as if Glenn didn’t understand where Carl was coming from. Every single one of the group had those exact same fears. Hell, Glenn certainly did. 

But running off half-cocked and placing yourself in danger was no way to deal with the situation. He had just opened his mouth to tell the boy exactly that, when a young, distinctly female, and definitely familiar voice, sounded not far to their left. 

“Carl? Glenn?”

The two looked up and swiveled their heads forward, where a slightly disheveled _(but alive! Thank god!)_ Sophia was stepping out of the bushes, using a long branch as a crutch and a red handkerchief wrapped around her ankle. Daryl Dixon was right behind her. 

Carl’s whole face lit up.

“Sophia!”

He ran to her at the same time she started hobbling towards him. It would have been a heartwarming reunion, if not for the sound of a gunshot that echoed through the woods, right as the bells in the little chapel started ringing. 

* * *

_Fuck_.

Daryl ran. It was becoming a trend. He just ran and ran and ran nowadays. Back into Atlanta to get his brother. Back to the quarry to warn the group of the oncoming herd. After a little girl to bring her back to her mother. To a farm hastily described by a heavyset man, to save a young boy’s life.

The weight of the 10 year old in his arms should have been nothing to him, lord knows he had carried animal carcasses far heavier than this. As well as Merle’s drunken or drugged out form. 

Maybe it was the knowledge that the boy in his arms was currently losing blood at an alarming rate, that made it seem as if Daryl’s arms would give out on their burden any second.

_‘Don’t think about it! Just run! Fucking run!’_

Finally the farm the guy who had shot Carl _(an accident. It had been a fucking hunting accident)_ had talked about came into view and Daryl put on a burst of speed. 

“Help!” 

He vaulted over a thick branch in his path, the violent jostling producing a pained whimper from Carl, though the kid’s eyes remained close. Was this a good sign, or a bad one? Daryl cursed and kept running to the big farmhouse.

“Anyone in there?! I need help!”

He was only a few feet away from the front steps, when the door flew open, revealing an old man. As soon as he laid eyes on what Daryl was carrying, he hurried out to meet him. 

“What happened? Was he bit? Come, this way. Quick.”

Only a moment had been spared by the old man to access the bare minimum of the situation, before he gestured to Daryl to follow him inside the house. 

“Not bit; shot. Guy was hunting. Bullet went through the deer and into the boy. He showed me the way here. Said there was a doctor.” There was no time to waste on long explanations, so Daryl shared only what was pertinent. 

The old man nodded while guiding Daryl and his precious cargo up the stairs. 

“I’m the doctor.” 

A young man, probably college-aged, came out of a room along the hallway. His eyes wide as he saw the bloody kid in Daryl’s arms. “Dad, what’s going on?”

But the old man didn’t break his stride and neither did Daryl. “Shawn, get my bag from the study and tell your mother to come and assist me. Hurry!”

To Daryl’s great relief Shawn didn’t waste time either by demanding an explanation, and instead ran to do as his father had told him. The doctor had meanwhile opened a door and beckoned Daryl to lay the boy down on the bed there. 

“The man you met must have been Otis, he is a family friend. Where is he?” The doctor looked suspicious, almost afraid, as he waited for the other man’s answer. Daryl snorted. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t kill your buddy for this. Guy was too slow, so I ran ahead. He should get here in a bit.”

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief as he bent over the boy on the bed and started removing the blood-soaked shirt, to get a good look at the wound underneath. At the same time the young man from the hallway, Shawn, burst into the room with a big, dark brown bag in his hand. Close on his heels was an older woman, who Daryl guessed was the mother Shawn had been tasked with getting. 

“Hershel, what-” She took one look at Carl and rushed forward, gasping. “Oh no. What happened? What do you need?”

“One of Otis’ bullets hit the kid in the clavicle. No exit wound. We need to clean him up to get a better look. Shawn, go get some water. And then find Beth and Maggie and tell them what is going on.”

Then the old man, Hershel apparently, addressed Daryl. 

“How old is he? Does he have any allergic reactions to medicine? And what is his blood type?”

Daryl had never hated anything as much as he hated this very moment right then. 

“‘bout 10 years old. Don’t know anything about any allergies, or his blood type. Only met him and his folks a few weeks ago.”

Hershel frowned deeply as his wife carefully wiped away the blood with a clean, wet wipe. Before he could say anything more, there was a short commotion heard from below, then thundering footsteps on the stairs, and only moments later, Lori and Shane burst into the room. 

Otis, Shawn, a blond teen, and a young woman behind them. 

“Oh my god! Carl!” Lori rushed to the bed her son was laying on and sunk to her knees beside it, taking his small, lax hand into her shaking one. Shane stepped up right beside her, his face ashen and haunted-looking as his eyes fell on Carl’s bleeding and unconscious form.

“We ran right into the forest when Amy told us. Then we heard the shot… came across Glenn and Sophia on our way, they told us what happened, pointed us in the right direction. We met him -” he nodded his head at Otis, who was still breathing heavily from all the exertion. “- halfway here.”

Daryl didn’t know if Shane was aware that he was reporting these events to a room full of strangers and a redneck he probably couldn’t care less about. The former deputy seemed to be caught in some kind of hell space of his own mind after seeing Carl like this. Not that they had time for this shit right then. 

Daryl quickly turned to the kneeling other.

“Lori, is Carl allergic to any medical crap?”

The woman tried her best to compose herself as she answered. 

“No. We have never had any problems with anything.”

Hershel took over the questioning while his wife applied pressure to the bleeding wound.

“He is going to need a transfusion. What is his blood type?”

Lori blanched further as the words registered. 

“A positive. Same as,.. same as his father. I’m B positive, I can’t-.. Shane?”

But Shane shook his head. “I’m AB negative.”

“Kid can have mine.” Daryl was already rolling up his sleeve. “0 negative. That’s the one that can donate to all the others, right?” He directed the question to the doctor, who nodded and turned to his wife. 

“Annette, prepare the transfusion kit, we need to stabilize the boy before I can examine the wound further.”

From there, things just happened one after another. Daryl gave the kid his blood, the doc found out that the bullet had shattered inside Carl and the fragments needed to be removed before they did further damage. Shane and Otis volunteered to get the needed supplies from a close-by Highschool with medic trailers, and Hershel instructed his oldest daughter, Maggie, to ride out to the highway and get the rest of the group to the farm. 

Daryl had tried to be part of either excursion, but Hershel worried that he had given too much blood to be running around, and Annette had given him a stern look and told him to stay right where he was seated next to the bed. Then she told her youngest daughter, Beth, to bring some juice up for him. Shawn, who was hovering anxiously in the doorway, she sent to the kitchen to start to prepare some food, since they were about to have guests. 

Daryl couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Good to know who is in charge around here.” 

She grinned at him. “And don’t you forget it.”

The levity of the moment was short-lived, however.

“He will be okay, right?” Lori looked up to Hershel imploringly, from where she was _(now seated in a chair that Shawn had brought up for her)_ still clutching Carl’s hand in one of hers and carding the fingers of her other one through his sweat-soaked hair. “You have done this before, right?”

The doctor looked suddenly nervous, almost shifty, and Daryl wished he hadn’t thrust his crossbow at Glenn when he told the Korean to get Sophia back to her mother, while he had scooped Carl up in his arms to follow Otis to the farm. The crossbow would have been in the way when carrying the kid, but it would have been damn good to have handy now if the old man was trying to pull something. 

Fortunately, Daryl’s worry was unfounded.

“I have. Just not on a human.”

At both Daryl and Lori’s uncomprehending look, Hershel sighed. “I’m a veterinarian.”

This piece of information seemed to shake the very foundation that held up Lori’s hope for her son’s survival, and Daryl decided to nip that shit right in the bud. He had had enough of people crying in front of him. 

“Hey!” His voice might have been a little too aggressive sounding right then, but it got the job done of getting the woman’s attention on him, so he didn’t care. “Ain’t so different from a people doctor. You got any idea how often I dragged Merle’s ass to the vet that lived near us? Or my own ass for that matter? If the old man says he can do it, then that’s because he can.”

Hershel nodded to Lori reassuringly. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help your boy.”

Lori gave him a tight smile and a nod of her head. She still wasn’t exactly happy with the circumstances, and Daryl didn’t blame her, but at least she believed the vet. 

At that moment the teenager, Beth, came back into the room, a glass of juice in one hand, which she quickly passed to Daryl, and a cup of coffee she placed on the little nightstand for Lori. A whimper from the bed had everyone looking at Carl, whose eyes were blinking rapidly.

“Mom?” 

Lori leaned into his field of vision right away. “I’m here, baby.”

“It hurts.” He cried.

The woman had to bite her lip to keep from crying herself. “I know, Carl. I know. But you will be okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

She stroked her hand soothingly over his hair, as she looked up to Hershel. 

“Isn’t there anything you can give him for the pain?”

The veterinarian grimaced. “Not something that is safe to give him before the surgery. My medicine stock has been running low for a while. I only have one dose of a sedative left. If I administer that now, he might wake up in the middle of me removing the bullet pieces.”

Lori looked stricken, Carl whimpered pain- and fearfully again, Hershel, Annette, and their daughter looked tortured by this, and Daryl bit down on his cuticle with a vengeance. 

Fuck it all to hell!

“If you had something else to put the kid under with, could you give him the sedative now without risking some kinda overdose or sumthin’ like that, if it needs to be topped off again later?”

Hershel nodded thoughtfully. “It would depend on the kind of sedative, to rule out any negative drug interaction. Do you have something in mind?”

Instead of answering the vet directly, Daryl turned to the girl. “When your sister gets the rest of the group here, go to Glenn. He is Korean. Dark hair, big eyes, stupid baseball cap, and should be driving my truck. Tell him to bring ‘Merle’s stash’ to your dad.”

Then he swiveled his gaze back around to Hershel. “My brother’s got a habit of collecting drugs he don’t need.” It was the nicest way he could think of telling a stranger that his brother was a junkie. “There’s some prescription stuff, antibiotics, meth, X, heroin, benzo, oxy.” He shrugged in Annette’s direction as the woman’s eyes had widened at the list’s components. “Merle got the clap on occasion.”

Hershel frowned, contemplative. “Some of those could work if I adjust the doses.”

Lori’s eyes widened in panic. “You want to give my son drugs?!” She looked ready to claw the man’s eyes out, if not for the calming hand Annette held up. 

“It’s quite safe, actually. You would be surprised how many illegal substances are little more than highly concentrated medications. We have everything we need to make sure it won’t harm your boy at all.”

While Lori still seemed unsure, Carl cried out again. “Mom? Please… it hurts really bad.”

Unable to witness her son’s suffering, she nodded. “Give him the sedative now.”

As Annette hurried to prepare the injection, Hershel pinned the other man in the room with a suspicious look. “The blood we just pumped out of you and into the boy-”

He didn’t need to ask further. Daryl understood perfectly.

“Is clean.” He made sure to keep eye contact with the old man as he answered. “I’ve seen what that shit did to my brother. Worst I ever did was take some shrooms a few years back. I ain’t never touched the harder stuff.”

It was the truth, but he was still surprised when Hershel took it as that, instead of doubting his word. It was a stupid, naive thing to do. 

And it was also very decent.

Fucking decent people!

As Hershel pushed the needle into the crook of Carl’s arm, the kid turned his wide, frightened eyes to his mother. “I’m scared.”

Lori tried her best to smile at him through her tears. “Me too, baby. But it’s- it’ll be alright. Okay? You are gonna sleep for a while, and when you wake up again, things will get better.”

The sedative was working fast, and Carl could just manage to ask one more question. 

“You promise?”

His eyes closed to the sight of his mother nodding, tears streaming down her face.

* * *

Shane sprinted to the car, bag of the needed supplies in his left hand, and Otis’ gun in his right.

_~ ”Go! I won’t be able to make it over that fence.” ~_

Otis had rolled on his ankle. Had been limping, slowing them down. 

He hadn’t had a choice.

_~ ”Take my gun. You’ll need it more than me.” ~_

The undead had been coming at them, Otis was too slow. Carl needed the medical equipment!

_~ ”I’ll see my Patricia again, and your boy will have a chance.” ~_

He hadn’t had a choice!

_~ ”Just, please.” Otis had said as he closed his eyes. “Make it quick.” ~_

Shane could still hear the sound of the shot in his mind. The feeling of pulling the trigger. The image of blood shooting out of Otis’ head. 

He hadn’t had a choice. He needed to get the bag to Carl. He couldn’t let the boy die.

He hadn’t had a choice!

* * *

Daryl hated being confined to the chair. So what if he had given a lot of blood and needed to take it easy? He could just as well do that standing up and walking around. 

But the damn woman looked like she might break every time Daryl made to get up. As if she feared he would spontaneously combust if he strained himself even just a little bit, and then there would be no one left to donate their blood to Carl. 

She was a good mother. It pissed him off that she was able to guilt him into staying put with just her frantically worried looks. Placing her son’s well being over Daryl’s desire to move around. 

It annoyed him even more that he respected her for that. 

Another glass of orange juice, as well as a sandwich, had been forced into Daryl, to “Keep your strength up. We are going to need more of your blood during the surgery.”

Lori meanwhile hadn’t even touched the cup of coffee near her.

Maggie had found the group and guided them to the farm, and Beth had gotten the drugs from Glenn and given them to her dad. The doc and his wife now busy sorting through Merle’s stash and adjusting things for later use. 

Andrea had been sent up as a representative of the group, to check on them and assure Lori that they were all with her.

“For what it’s worth, our hopes and prayers are with you and Carl.”

It was a stupid, naive thing to say and Daryl had fucking had it with stupid naivety.

“I’ll tell you what it’s worth. Nuthin’. Ain’t no use all that praying and hoping. Not like God gives enough of a fuck to lend a helping hand.” 

Andrea looked ready to slug him, but Daryl was done with this touchy-feely nonsense.

“Imma tell you what’s gonna happen, Olive Oyl. Your boy toy and the farmhand are gonna be back with the stuff the doc needs any minute. Then the old man is gonna get the bullet fragments out of Carl, while the damn brat is gonna drain me of my fucking blood. And then your son is gonna be just _fine_. No heavenly intervention needed.”

The two women looked at him as if they didn’t know what to say to that. Daryl decided not to let them dwell on it.

“And then you are gonna ground his ass for taking a stupid, unnecessary risk.”

The smallest smile formed on Lori’s lips, so he considered the topic closed. Then he trained his gaze on Andrea. 

“Tell Glenn to bring me my crossbow. I don’t trust the kid not to shoot himself in his own foot with it.”

* * *

One second he had watched as the old veterinarian carefully dug another shard out of the boy’s wound, and the next he was suddenly opening his eyes to the decor of a different room, lying in a far too soft bed. 

“Wha’ t’ ‘ell.” 

Fuck, was that his voice? The last time he could remember croaking like that, had been after a two day bender he had been on with Merle. His brother had wanted to celebrate being kicked out from the military and Daryl figured getting drunk with Merle was better than letting Merle get high.

“You’re awake. Thank goodness. How are you feeling?”

The voice brought his attention to the side of the bed, where he found Carol sitting in a chair, closing the book she must have been reading and setting it on the nightstand. 

“Wha’ ‘appened?”

She reached over to hand him a glass of water as she answered. “You lost consciousness during the operation. All that blood you gave to Carl on an almost empty stomach, coupled with the adrenalin the day had brought… Also, Sophia said she didn’t think you slept last night, in the tree.”

She nodded her head a little to the side, and Daryl spotted the girl curled up and sleeping in a stuffed armchair close to the window, a blanket draped over her. 

Carol smiled. “She was worried when she saw Shane and T-Dog carrying you out of the other room into this one. Wanted to be here when you woke up. But it’s been a long couple of days, and she crashed pretty much as soon as she got comfortable.”

Daryl could believe it. Hell, the girl and her mother should have laid down in a bed somewhere, or on a couch _(nice house like this was bound to have a big, fluffy couch, right?)_ , instead of sitting around here and waiting for his ass to wake up. Bad enough that he had fainted, _(fucking fainted! Fuck!)_ , in a room where a little boy was fighting for his life, but then T and fucking Walsh had carried him out of there and laid him down on a nice, soft bed? It was a good thing Merle wasn’t here _(and Daryl wasn’t worried. His brother was fine and they would meet up at the rehab center later)_ , otherwise the asshole would laugh at Daryl until the day he died _(which would be soon because Daryl would kill him.)_

After another swallow of water, Daryl hoped his voice was steady enough to ask the question he needed to.

“The boy? Carl. Is he-?” Daryl had fucking fainted. All he had to do was sit in a chair and not disturb the needle that drew his blood so that the boy would get through surgery, and he had fucking fainted!

But Carol smiled at him softly. “He is going to be okay. The doctor found and removed all the bullet pieces. He was already closing up the wound when your body finally gave out on you. He said it was as if you held on just long enough for Carl’s body to have the blood it needed to survive. You saved his life.”

Daryl grimaced and took another sip of water.

“Just as you saved Sophia. I… I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

That soft smile, that awed look, the slight shine of tears in her eyes. Daryl really could not deal with these people and their _feelings_ anymore.

“Wasn’t nothing. I didn’t do anything that any other person in the group wouldn't have done as well if they could have.”

She needed to stop looking at him as if he had done something special. As if he _was_ something special. But she just kept smiling.

“I know. You are every bit as good as they are. Every bit.”

God damn fucking shit, he needed to get out of this conversation. A quick look out of the window gave him an idea.

“‘s getting dark. Where are the others all at?”

Thankfully Carol didn’t call him out for changing the subject.

“Lori and Shane are in the room with Carl. Beth, the one you sent to Glenn, has offered Amy to sleep with her in her room. The two of them hit it off right away. You know, as soon as all the drama of today ebbed down a bit. Dale insists he will be fine sleeping in the RV. Annette had Maggie make a guest room ready for me and Sophia, though currently Andrea and Jacqui are in there and trying to get some rest. They will trade off watch with Glenn and T late, who have made use of the big couches in the living room.” _(Daryl felt a small amount of satisfaction about his earlier thought about this place having big couches being true.)_ “The Greenes, that’s their last name, say they haven’t had much trouble with the undead out here, but everyone felt safer with setting up a watch around the farm.”

Daryl freed himself from the covers _(too soft, too warm, too good for him)_ and sat up.

“You and the girl can sleep here, no need to kick Andrea and Jacqui out of the other room. Imma take watch with Glenn and T. Anyone bring my crossbow in here?”

The bed was wasted on him anyway. Far too fluffy. Far too nice. 

But just as he made to get up, Carol laid her hands on his shoulders and pressed him back down. He flinched instinctively away from the touch and tried to disguise it as adjusting his limbs to the position. Carol noticed this, but to her credit, didn’t draw any attention to it as she straightened back up, and took a step away. 

“No. You have done enough for today. Just relax a bit. I’ll go and get you more to drink. Then I’ll wake Sophia and we will get out of your hair for the night. Please, Daryl, try to get some sleep. You need it, and you have more than earned it.”

She was out of the room before he could utter a protest. 

He didn’t need sleep. Fucking woman didn’t know what she was talking about. So what if he felt like trash, it was hardly the first time. He had had worse. 

He had had _so_ much worse, and still gotten his ass up and done something useful. 

These city slickers didn’t understand. They didn’t know how much shit you could actually take and keep going, because they probably never had to take even half the shit that Daryl had endured. _(Judging from her late husband - and good riddance to that one -_ _Carol might have a better understanding than the rest of the group, though.)_

They were soft. Far too soft for this new world. 

His eyes fell back on the sleeping Sophia. What she had told her mama was right. Daryl hadn’t slept last night in that tree. They had been in a vulnerable state and an unsecured territory and in a too dangerous position for him to let his guard down. But just as he had told the girl last night, it hadn’t been the first time Daryl had hunkered down in a tree for the night. And it hadn’t been the first night he had gone without sleep. 

She hadn’t slept well in the tree. Would probably have been tossing and turning, if the jacket binding her to the branch hadn’t restricted her movements. The expression on her face, what little he had been able to make out in the dark, hadn’t been peaceful and a few whimpers had escaped her lips. She had likely had nightmares. It was no wonder, really.

Looking at the girl now, though, made a stark difference. The armchair she had huddled herself into looked soft. The blanket tucked around her seemed warm. The room they were in was quiet, no sounds from rustling leaves or nocturnal animals to disturb her rest. No unnatural grunting and groaning from freaks walking by, keeping Daryl on edge and his crossbow close. No fear of imminent death keeping her subconscious busy and filling her head with a replay of her almost being eaten.

He understood why she had a better time sleeping in this room than out in the forest. 

She was back with her mother. Carl made it through surgery and would recover from his injury. The group was all back together. They were in a real house. 

Safe. 

For now, they were safe. 

It made sense that the girl slept better now. So much sense, actually, that Daryl tried not to blame himself too much, when he felt his eyelids drooping shut, and his body sinking back into the bed. 

* * *

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Glenn and Maggie are being cute:  
> Glenn: "Hey, do you know what bees make?" ;-)  
> Maggie: "Honey?"  
> Glenn: "Yes, dear?" :-* <3
> 
> When Rick tries to be cute with Daryl:  
> Rick: "Hey, do you know what bees make?" ;-)  
> Daryl: "A stupid annoying sound."  
> Rick: :-|  
> Daryl: "What the fuck do ya want?"
> 
> _
> 
> Modern AU; I always picture Daryl as a bit of a technophobe. He doesn't like his smartphone, fragile, stupid thing. It takes him a long time to text back (if he bothers at all), and autocorrect turns his texts into the most hilarious things ever (he doesn't know how to turn it off, another reason why he rarely texts.) He almost always forgets to charge it.  
> Rick is much more comfortable with these things. He sometimes teases Daryl about it, though it's never mean spirited. He has dozens of photos on his phone of his kids and Daryl, and since Daryl is a little camera shy, Rick delights in the challenge of catching his hunter unaware.  
> Carl and Sophia like to sneakily snatch up Daryl's phone and change the ringtones or background. When 'Barbie Girl' plays when Merle calls him, Daryl doesn't even blackmail Rick into setting it back.  
> _  
> Also, first Rickyl kiss if it was set in canon, how and when would it have happened?  
> Would have to be after Lori died. I just can't see Rick as someone who would go around kissing others if he still considered himself married. (Even while having marital problems). So, I think it would be while still in the prison. Some time after his break down. He would get up one day, having slept in for the first time in days, because someone else must have taken Judith out of his cell for her morning bottle. He isn't worried, there are only people he trusts. He is surprised that he didn't wake up while someone entered and took his daughter, though. That is, until he finds Daryl in the common room, telling a content little Judith some bastardized version of a fairy tale. Of course it was the ever silent on his feet hunter who had gotten her out without waking Rick. The ex-cop stands in the entry way for a bit, listening as Daryl tells Judith that Arielle was a spoiled, stupid girl, so deeply into her teenage rebellion that she would make a deal with a vengeful kraken lady (who might as well have been a drug dealer), for some stupid man who was too old for her and who she didn't even know anything about, and "you be smarter than that, lil' asskicker, you hear? Ain't no running off with the first guy or gal who smiles prettily at you. They's gonna get an arrow in the ass if they try to take you, don't you worry non."  
> Rick grins and walks up to them, sitting down right beside Daryl, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh (because he can do that. He is allowed), and wriggles his fingers into Judith's face.  
> "And a bullet right beside that arrow."  
> Then Daryl and Rick share some generic small talk, and then Rick will take the baby because he can see Daryl is getting a little antsy about going out to hunt or check on his snares, and while he straightens up with Judith in his arms, he pecks Daryl's cheek, and tells him to be careful, and not run off with any strange princes with pretty smiles he might come across out there. Or Rick will have to commit regicide.


End file.
